


Gwen Stacy and the Wonders of Spidey-Sex

by Jenetica



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: (that's my favorite tag), 5+1 Things, Autofellatio, BAMF!Gwen, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Kink Exploration, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spider-Man specific sex acts, and more - Freeform, clinging to walls and ceilings for devious means, such as!, using spidey-senses for devious means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One time Gwen Stacy sleeps with Peter Parker, and five times she has smoking hot sex with Spider-Man. Inverted 5+1 fic.</p><p>(How has no one else done a Peter Parker autofellatio scene yet? Ripe pickings, guys.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a disgusting, filthy person. Enjoy the fruits of my not-so-difficult labor.
> 
> Dedicated to [Alyson](http://camelbearduck.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me to do this thing. We need to be better friends, chica. Have some "Let's Be Better Friends!" porn.
> 
> Also, for those of you who haven't yet seen it, a South Korean artist got into a lot of trouble for [this glorious statue.](http://lockerdome.com/happygilmore/6170048381332289/6686406428992017) I want it.
> 
> Un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own, and point them out if you notice them!

Dating Peter Parker is like slipping into a warm bath after a really hard day. Even though Gwen grew up here, New York is a difficult place in which to live, even for the privileged few like her. Every night the news has more wretched deaths and crimes to report, and every day Gwen clings to her bag and prays _not today._  
  
She used to do that for her father, too, but... well, that's a sadder, darker thread for another story. Gwen doesn't like focusing on that too much.  
  
But Gwen's troubles are deeper than just living in a hectic city. She has to maintain perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect work at her job at Oscorp, perfect style, and perfect daughter-ship. She's not allowed to be flawed, not where it counts. And Gwen Stacy is not one to back down from a challenge like that, even when it puts bags under her eyes that she carefully conceals with Dior makeup. She wants to do good things and go great places, and she can sacrifice some childhood to make those dreams come true.  
  
Peter, for all his flaws, makes it easier. Yes, he's bad at communication and yes, he's truly horrible at keeping promises, especially when they're time sensitive and there are sirens in the distance, but he tries. He makes Gwen feel so perfect that she doesn't have to work for it, and that's worth it to her. Peter looks at her like she is the sun in his solar system, and his every day revolves around soaking up her brightness. What teenaged girl would ever turn that away?  
  
Dating Spider-Man is, by comparison, like applying scorching heat to a frozen surface and watching it melt. He's just so sexy. Spider-Man flings and contorts and somersaults and snarks, and it's so hot Gwen can barely stand it.  
  
And _God_ , that _ass_.  
  
It's such a conflict for her, because one minute she's watching Spider-Man save the day from some evil idiot with a machine gun or a machete or something on the news, and the next she has a pile of Parker curled up on her floor, bruised and cuddly. It's like romantic whiplash.  
  
Gwen supposes she keeps it together by remembering that Spider-Man is hidden in Peter and vice versa. The adorable guy she's on-again-off-again dating is also the stunningly sarcastic superhero of New York, and that cocky asshole of a superhero is also her shy and lovable boyfriend. Those two sides equal a dreamboat; it's getting to see both sides at once that's the challenge.  
  
Like right now. Peter's wearing the suit that makes Gwen weak in the knees, but her mind is so far from sex it's almost sad. They're in an off-again swing because Peter feels morally obligated to follow her dad's dying wish, but Gwen knows better than to think that can hold Peter off for long.  
  
"God, I just need to hold you right now," he mumbles into her hair. He's dirty and tender in the ribs, but he's mostly unharmed. It's been one of his better patrols, then, at least as physical injury is concerned. Something shook him emotionally, though, because he isn't usually this clingy.  
  
"What happened?" Gwen asks softly, ignoring the fact that they're not currently a couple. She makes herself comfortable in his lap and allows him to wrap around her like he actually does have eight limbs. "Peter, tell me what's wrong."  
  
Peter shakes his head and makes a pathetic noise. "It was nothin'."  
  
She pokes him in the obnoxiously well-defined bicep. "Don't lie to me, Peter. Tell me what you fought tonight, or it'll eat you up inside. You know that."  
  
Peter sighs and the agony of it makes Gwen wish she hadn't asked. "Domestic violence case," he whispers. "In an alley, so no one called the cops or anything." Peter drops his head to her shoulder, and his voice cracks. "She was so scared, Gwen. He was gonna kill her, I know it. He had this broken bottle, and she already had cuts all over her body. And I know I saved her, but how many other cases like this are there where I wasn't there to help? How many women have died from loving their boyfriend too much? And then I thought of you and your dad, and I know I should be staying away, but I needed to make sure you were safe, Gwen, I just had to know, and I'm sorry I'm so bad at this but I hope you never look at me the way that woman looked at that guy."  
  
Gwen bites her lip and swallows down the mass of conflicting emotions welling in her throat. She sympathizes with Peter so much sometimes, but he continually tries to think _for_ her, instead of accepting that she can make her own decisions. She's told him so many times to stay with her, but time and time again he pulls away. He's only bad at this relationship because he refuses to let Captain Stacy go. Gwen loves her dad, she does, but he had no right, _none_ , to tell her boyfriend off like that. She is her own person, and she refuses to let men decide her fate for her. That is not Gwen Stacy's way.  
  
Peter doesn't need that argument right now, though, and Gwen really doesn't want to start it. "I'm safe, bug-boy. I'm right here, and I will never look at you that way. You know why?"  
  
Peter lifts his head and looks world-weary. "Why?"  
  
"Because you're good," Gwen replies, lifting her hand to his jaw. "You're a good, decent person who would never hurt me like that. Be honest, would you ever threaten me with a broken bottle?"  
  
"No, of course not," Peter insists. "Gwen, I love you, I would never threaten you, never never." He hides his face in her hair again, murmuring 'never' into her shoulder. Gwen hates how adorable she thinks that is.  
  
"Then I have no reason to fear you, okay?" Gwen nudges her shoulder up to get him to look her in the eye. "Peter. Okay?"  
  
Peter looks up again, this time with desperate resolve in his eyes. "Gwen, you have to swear to me that you'll tell me if I ever do anything that hurts you like that. I know that I would never intend to hurt you, but I'm so strong and I'm so scared that one day I'll touch you or I won't be there or _something_ will happen to change your answer. So I need you to be honest with me, okay? Promise?"  
  
"Of course I will," Gwen says softly. "Besides, when have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut?"  
  
Her lame joke has the intended effect, and Peter huffs a laugh. He brushes her hair from her shoulder and drops a kiss to the fabric of her cardigan. "I'm sorry. I know you have that project at Oscorp you're working on. I'll go."  
  
"No, stay," Gwen says before he can move. "Please." She does have a project due tomorrow, but she needs Peter right now just as much as he needs her. "Just stay with me for a little while. When does your aunt want you home?"  
  
Peter's head tilts back against the side of her armchair. "She's working the night shift at the hospital. She still doesn't know I know about that, but I figure I have my secret where I save lives, she can have hers. You're sure I can stay?"  
  
She can work on the project in the morning. It isn't technically due until the end of the workday, anyway. "I want you to. But I want you to shower before you get street grime all over my bed."  
  
"Street grime from street crime," Peter jokes, smiling widely. Gwen doesn't want to laugh, but he's so proud of himself that she can't hold herself back.  
  
"Precisely," she says. "I'll tell Mom I'm showering and, while she's distracted, you sneak into the bathroom. Good?"  
  
Peter grins and pushes his nose alongside her own. "You're too good to me."  
  
Oh, and that's another thing: Gwen _loves_ the way Peter kisses. He has kiss foreplay, where he lets the electricity crackle between them until he can't wait to kiss her anymore, and it's such a turn-on. Gwen can't wait until they finally have sex, because she bets he's the same way in bed, and it'll probably be so good she dies a little. "Mmhm," she agrees, tilting her head so their lips barely brush together. "You'll just have to pay me back somehow."  
  
Peter smiles against her lips and kisses her. The kiss is soft and lingering like so many of Peter's kisses, as if this might be their last kiss and Peter wants to remember it forever. Tonight, Gwen wants more than that. She licks along his bottom lip, tasting salt and bitter smog, until he opens his mouth to her. Gwen keeps the kiss slow, but lets it degenerate into something dirty. She licks his teeth and pokes at his tongue until he's moaning and rubbing up against her. The rubber veins of his suit drag against her as he moves to grip her tighter. Gwen wants to shift so she can straddle him, but she pulls back.  
  
"Shower," she orders him, her voice deep and husky. It sends a thrill of pride through her to see how debauched Peter looks already from just kissing. His eyes are glazed and his mouth refuses to fully close. Gwen wants to fill that mouth with something useful. "Shower quickly, so we can get back to what we were doing, but on a bed."  
  
Peter's eyes light up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Go to your mom," he says, standing and lifting her off his lap like she weighs nothing. A hint of Spider-Man peeking through the bashful veneer of Peter Parker. Gwen wants him so badly. "Where are the towels?"  
  
"Linen closet's in the bathroom," she says, brushing down her skirt and running fingers through her hair. "Just grab whatever. Ready?"  
  
She listens at the door to make sure no one's around before walking to her mother's room. Behind her, Peter creeps silently to the bathroom and gives her a thumbs-up.  
  
"Hey, mom," Gwen calls through the bedroom door, "I'm going to take a shower, okay?"  
  
"You took one this morning," her mother replies, surprised.  
  
Gwen rolls her eyes. Now is not the time. "It was a very hot day," she says, "and I feel grungy."  
  
"Okay, honey," her mother says, "no need to explain yourself to me."  
  
If she didn't want an explanation, why did she fish for one? Honestly, parents can be so aggravating. Gwen calls out a "Thanks!" and walks past the bathroom, giving Peter a thumbs-up. He's already out of his shirt and Gwen actively avoids staring at his body. Did he always have all those lean muscles, or is that another perk of the mutation? More importantly, does it matter?  
  
Gwen wisely uses the time to her advantage to do as much of the project as she can in ten minutes. "Cross species mutations on the MCR-1 gene" isn't the richest topic she's faced at Oscorp, but it's far from the most boring. Thank God for small favors, she supposes.  
  
When Peter sneaks back into Gwen's room, she completely forgets about her project. "Hey, so I forgot to bring clothes with me," he says sheepishly, holding a towel around his waist with one hand and his suit with the other, "and I figured putting the suit back on would kind of defeat the purpose."  
  
"Uhh," Gwen says intelligently. "Do you need clothes?" It sounds like an offer, but she means it as a serious question. Does he really? He shouldn't feel obligated to put something on for her benefit. That would be cruel of her. Probably. Or something.  
  
Peter tilts his head and smirks like he knows exactly how Gwen intended her question to sound. "Gwen?"  
  
"Hmm?" She tears her eyes from his flat and really, fantastically likable stomach. "What?"  
  
Peter's smirk widens into a full-blown grin. "You're checking me out right now."  
  
"Me?" Gwen scoffs, "no way. Not even a little."  
  
"You are," Peter insists playfully, taking a step closer. "What if I...?" He lets the towel drop an inch and Gwen almost chokes on spit. It's a really good inch to expose. She can see how the muscles of his stomach vee down into a narrow plane that leads directly to his— she should stop before she embarrasses herself more than she has already.  
  
"What if you what?" she asks innocently, training her eyes to look at his face. Or, rather, look through it; she's having a hard time getting her eyes to focus right now. It's fine.  
  
Peter shakes his head. "You're too much," he tells her. "Do you have any clothes that will fit me?"  
  
A wave of possibly dumb bravery takes hold of Gwen Stacy in that moment. She stands up. "Nope, none," she tells him. "You'll have to go without."  
  
Peter looks at her incredulously. "Is this a game? I can't seriously be naked in front of you, Gwen."  
  
"What if I even the playing field?" she replies, shucking her cardigan. Peter actually does lose the grip on his towel a little, so much so that he fumbles to right it on his hips. In the meantime, Gwen pulls off her blouse and unzips her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. While Peter's breathing goes unsteady she slides her thigh-highs down to her ankles and slips them all the way off. "See? Now it's not nearly so bad."  
  
"It's worse," Peter says hoarsely. "Now I really do have something to hide."  
  
He obviously didn't mean to say that aloud, and both of them turn a violent shade of red. "Uh," he says, "I mean...."  
  
Gwen shakes her head and steps into his personal space. "Good," she says. "I'm hiding something, too. I'll show you mine if you show me yours?"  
  
Peter's flush works down his neck and onto his chest. "Gwen, I don't think—"  
  
Gwen rolls her eyes and unclasps her bra, casting it aside. "You don't think—?"  
  
Peter stares at her chest, looking hungry. "I don't remember."  
  
Gwen takes another step forward, so her nipples brush up against him. She lets her hands find his, clutching the ends of the towel like a lifeline. He lets go one finger at a time, glancing between where her chest is touching his and her face. Gwen leans forward and presses a kiss to his sternum, and he lets go. The towel drops to the floor and Gwen feels a line of heat press up against her belly. Peter's naked. They're naked together, in her room. This is really happening.  
  
Gwen spins them and pushes Peter back onto her bed. He falls like a ton of bricks. Okay, less than that, but he can't weigh a ton when he's swinging around Manhattan. It's totally unrealistic. And she's digressing, here. He falls heavily for someone of his build and dexterity. There.  
  
Gwen lets herself stare at him. He's all long and pale, even his cock. Gwen hasn't seen lots of penises, and she hasn't seen any in real life before this, but she'd like to think Peter has a pretty one, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, anyway. But the true beauty is Peter's face, all pink and glazed over, like he's stunned and delighted and confused all in one. Gwen makes it a personal challenge to see that look on his face for the rest of her life.  
  
"Unfair," he says, staring at her just as she's been staring at him. "You're still wearing clothes."  
  
Gwen looks down at her blue panties. She'd forgotten they were on. She's not sure if she wants to take them off, though; Gwen, like a lot of teenaged girls, she imagines, is self-conscious about her downstairs. Is she supposed to be shaving it, like porn stars do? Is it, like, symmetrical and nice and everything? Does she have a good vagina? Is Peter feeling the same way that she feels right now?  
  
"You have a great penis," she blurts, to be on the safe side. "Just so you know."  
  
Peter looks down at himself, looking torn between blushing harder and grinning. "Thanks."  
  
"It's just," she says, rubbing at the lace of her panties, "I've never done this before, and I've never had tons of people screaming how hot I look in spandex, so...."  
  
"Gwen," Peter says, sitting up, "Gwen, you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. You don't need to put on spandex for people to realize how gorgeous you are. I was so shocked when you agreed to go out with me that I barely talked for the rest of the night, because there was no way someone as perfect as Gwen Stacy would ever go for someone like me." He shakes his head. "Am I making sense? I'm kind of boob-boggled."  
  
Gwen giggles. "Yeah." And funnily enough, she does feel better. "Care to do the honors, then?"  
  
Peter's eyes widen into near perfect circles. "Are you sure?"  
  
Gwen nods and guides Peter's hands to the straps of fabric on her hips. "Don't rip them," she warns him. "These are nice ones."  
  
He rips them anyway. "My fingers get sticky when I'm overwhelmed," he tells her guiltily. "You're... overwhelming."  
  
She can hardly get pissy with him over that. "It's okay."  
  
Peter traces her hips delicately, and Gwen can feel the rasp of the tiny spider-hairs in his fingertips. It sends a wave of heat down to her core. Peter freezes like he felt the heat with her and, hell, he might have. Gwen has no idea what he's capable of sensing. She lets him circle around her hips for as long as she can bear it, but it's an embarrassingly short time before she's gently leading one hand to her center. She's so wet by now his fingers slip against her easily, but his gasp sounds anything but easy. Gwen shakes off her lingering nerves and pushes Peter's hand up a little so he rubs more firmly.  
  
"Let me give you the tour," she murmurs. She slides his fingers on her clit, shivering when he flexes against her instinctually, then pushes them back to her entrance. "That's about it," she says. "Questions?"  
  
Peter isn't even listening. His fingers curl inside her, rubbing all the good places, while his thumbs nudges at her clit. Gwen wants to latch her fingernails deep into his shoulders but settles from spearing them lightly through his hair. Peter keeps his eyes on what he's doing but angles into her touch, making tiny desperate noises as he works at her. Gwen rocks into his hand, feeling her orgasm approach steadily. She's never been one to come quickly, but Peter is inspiring all kinds of things in her right now. Gwen plucks at her nipples with one hand until Peter moans and leans forward to replace her finger with his mouth.  
  
When he bites at her nipple, eyes falling shut, it's game over. Gwen quakes on his hand, feeling her orgasm curl in her spine and explode. It's quite possibly the hardest she's ever come, even including those few times she's tried using a vibrator on herself. Just knowing Peter's there, watching her and wanting her and feeling her, kicks it up a notch. She has to bite her lips to keep quiet, lest her mom come to check on her, and what she can't conceal is covered by Peter's louder moan. As soon as she can, Gwen shoves him back and climbs onto the bed to straddle him.  
  
Peter shuts his eyes tightly. "Gwen," he croaks, "please. I need—"  
  
"I got you, bug-boy," Gwen says, reaching over and grabbing the first of a three-condom pack she bought when Peter finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. She has literally no idea what the purple foil indicates, as opposed to the pink or the yellow, but whatever. She rips it open and slides in on, pinching the tip just like she remembers in health class. Thank God for Midtown Science's liberal views on sex ed.  
  
Peter wheezes as she puts it on, fingers spasming uselessly at his sides. "Are you gonna... are we gonna..."  
  
"Shh," Gwen replies, steeling herself for The Sex. "I've _got_ you, bug-boy." She raises herself up onto her knees and lifts his dick so it's pressing at her entrance. She knows virginity is a myth and all that, but a thrill of fear works through her anyway. Is this going to hurt?  
  
She doesn't give herself time to think it over. As soon as she's sure he's in place, she pushes down, feeling the slick of the condom push through her own wetness. It does hurt, but it's the kind of pain you get after eating too much or working too hard. It just feels _big_.  
  
Peter screws his eyes shut and bites the side of his hand to keep from making a loud moan. Gwen wishes they were someplace else so she could hear him. She bets Peter moans beautifully. She lifts up a couple of inches and glides back down, getting used to the stretch of someone else inside her.  
  
"Peter," she whispers, awestruck, "you're _inside_ me."  
  
Peter's hips jerk convulsively. "Not helping," he grinds out. "Trying not to come, here."  
  
Well that's patently ridiculous. "Isn't that the point?" Gwen asks, swiveling her hips a little. "I've already traded in my tokens for a prize, it's your turn. I want you to come, Peter."  
  
His eyes blink open and bore into hers. "You don't want this to last?"  
  
"Well, eventually," Gwen says, trying to build a rhythm and half-failing. She'd never been good at dancing, either. Too much white in one girl for that. "I don't want all of our sex to end in minutes, but today? I want you to be you. Come for me, Peter."  
  
Peter gives her something between a smile and a grimace. His hands push up her thighs to grip her hips, and Gwen feels herself get lifted a little. Peter's super-strength will never fail to be unbearably sexy, she thinks. He rolls his hips under her, thrusting up into her with a weird squelching noise that's probably her own wetness. Gwen ignores it and leans forward to kiss Peter's slack lips. "Do it," she tells him. "Come."  
  
Peter kisses her back and pistons into her, keeping her body steady with his light grip. Gwen feels tendrils of arousal curl through her despite herself and, barely a second later, Peter has a finger circling her clit. It's perfect friction, so much so that Gwen feels another orgasm on the horizon. Peter's breathing fills the room, hiding her tiny, mewling pants as she crawls higher and higher up that peak.  
  
"Gonna come again?" Peter slurs, nuzzling her nose with his own. "Want you to. Wanna feel you around me."  
  
Shit, Gwen can definitely do that. She shudders and pulses around his dick, orgasm hitting her like a train. She kisses Peter fiercely to hide her groan, and he kisses her back to hide his. Gwen feels him jerk inside her and clenches down to make everything just a little tighter, a little hotter for him. After giving her two orgasms, he deserves to have the best sexual experience she can give him.  
  
Peter's fingers tighten on her hips and pumps into her one last time as he comes. "Jesus Christ, Gwen," he whispers when he comes down, "what _was_ that?" He looks winded, even more so that he does after a night of taking down baddies. Gwen grins because, hey, _she_ did that.  
  
She pulls off of him and collapses to the side. "Don't worry about it," she sighs, finally feeling some burn in her legs. "M'tired."  
  
Peter sits up and pulls the condom off, tying it and tossing it in the bin with his perfect aim. Gwen thinks maybe she appreciates that aim now more than ever. "Do you want me to go home?"  
  
"Never," Gwen sighs. "When does your aunt's shift end?"  
  
"Six."  
  
That's early, even for Gwen. "I'm not going to ask you to stay and get less sleep," she says, because she knows how it feels to be sleep-deprived, and she knows that his sleep deprivation is worse than her own. "If you want to go and get a few solid hours, I understand."  
  
Peter falls and curls into her in one smooth movement. "And if I don't care?"  
  
Gwen kisses his cheek. "Then you can stay."  
  
She feels him slip out of the bed at five. "Love you," she calls out sleepily, but he's already gone. He heard her anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic will be six chapters in length and roughly around 20,000 words.
> 
> Comments/critiques are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention this last chapter, but this fic takes place between the events of the two movies. I'm not saying it's in canon-verse, because Gwen's death is NOT OKAY, but understanding how much canon I use might help you understand references in this story a little more. Maybe. Who knows? 
> 
> I should tell you now that this chapter is short. Like it's 2/3 of the length of the other chapters in this story. I tried to extend it, to fill the scene out or add some more story onto the end, but everything I wrote sounded like trash, so I canned it all. Just know that the other chapters are NOT this brief. 
> 
> Still dedicated to Alyson, still un-beta'd.

Gwen would love to say that sex becomes a regular thing for them. Seriously, she would _love_ to. But she can't. Between her hours at Oscorp and Peter's hours fighting crime, they don't see each other a lot outside of the hallways of Midtown Science. When she does see Peter, he looks tired and worn out. She has a deep suspicion it has to do with the news updates every night involving the systematic takedown of the Persian mafia. Maybe it's because she's had sex now and she wants more, but Gwen finds it incredibly sexy. Everything Peter does now is sexy, even when he's just sleeping in class. She wonders how he'd react if she slipped under his desk and gave him a blowjob, right there in the classroom. Would he jolt awake, or would he think it's a dream? Which was hotter?  
  
Gwen's made fantastic use of her vibrator lately. She wakes up and rubs one out so she can get through the school day, then comes home and rubs one out because that first time never fully satiates her, especially after a day of seeing Peter and being unable to touch. Sometimes she rubs one out at bedtime, too, just for fun.  
  
It's a Saturday and she's made plans to spend the day with Peter, so naturally she gets off before jumping into the shower. She wonders what Peter has planned for the day and hopes it involves ice cream. It had better involve ice cream.  
  
She gets out of the shower and puts an anti-frizz serum in her hair before blow-drying it. New York has two modes: winter and muggy. Gwen's hair likes neither. She wraps a towel around herself and walks back into her room. Her breath catches. Peter's sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her vibrator and examining it.  
  
"What is this?"   
  
Gwen thinks about turning tail and hiding in the bathroom, but she knows better than to think Peter won't follow her. "You don't know?" she asks lightly, stalling.  
  
"Well, I mean, I figured out that it does this." He flicks the vibe on and a dull buzz fills the room. Gwen thanks the stars that her family is out grocery shopping. "But what purpose does that serve? Who has a gadget that just shakes at them?"  
  
She's so screwed. Or, rather, she hasn't been screwed, and that's why Peter's holding her vibrator in the dreaded Lock of Curiosity. Fuck. "Um. It's a sex thing. Toy. Thing."  
  
Peter sucks in a breath. The buzz of the toy is oppressively loud while Gwen waits for his reaction. She doubts he'll freak out but, honestly, she would freak out if the positions were switched.  
  
"This is a sex thing," he repeats, flicking the vibe off. "As in, you use it for, uh, sex things."  
  
Gwen doesn't respond. She doesn't think she needs to.  
  
"As in, you use it for when I'm not here," he continues, staring at her until she nods. He clenches a fist around the base of the vibrator and shoves it at her. "Show me."  
  
Gwen's mortified at how readily she gets wet after that. "I thought we had plans?" she asks weakly.  
  
"They've changed," he declares. He blinks, and a look of shyness comes over his face. "Unless you don't want to, which, I mean, it's totally up to you."  
  
Gwen grabs the vibrator before he can talk them out of a well-needed sexytime. "Find a good spot, bug-boy." She walks over to the bed and plops down, hiding a grin when Peter skitters over to her desk chair. She can't say she's feeling confident right now, but she's been itching to have Peter in her room again, and she'll take him any way she can get him.   
  
She drops the towel and lies on her bed, shifting until she's comfortable. "So, um, I'm just going to do it.”   
  
Peter nods dumbly, so Gwen closes her eyes and forces herself to relax. She can do this. She can totally do this.  
  
Gwen smoothes her hands down her torso and rubs at her hipbones. Yeah, she can definitely do this. It's actually kind of hot. She tweaks her nipples. Breastplay isn't normally something she does when she's by herself, but she wants to put on a little bit of a show, and she wants it to last.  
  
A rustle of clothes comes from her desk chair. When Gwen opens her eyes, Peter is completely naked and palming himself slowly. Gwen gasps and grabs for the vibrator, flicking it on the lowest setting. The first touch to her clit is a balm to the itch within her, but Gwen knows better than to trust it. One second her body's under control and having fun, and the next it's all over. Not today, Ms. Clitoris, not today.  
  
Peter grows restless in the chair, like he can't sit there and watch Gwen touch herself. She lifts the vibe and spreads her legs a little. “You can move, if you want.”  
  
Peter stands immediately and crosses to the edge of the bed. His dick is pressed up against his stomach, like it's defying gravity. Oh, fuck, that's brilliant. “Peter,” Gwen says, pushing up on her elbows. “Get up on the ceiling.”  
  
Peter's eyes brighten and he leaps up, sticking to the ceiling easily. “Jesus,” he breathes, leaning down so he's suspended on his fingertips and feet. “This is why you're top of our class.”  
  
Gwen smirks up at him and readjusts her grip on the vibe. “Can you... you know? Like this?”  
  
Peter shifts back and his back sticks to the ceiling. He's poised directly over Gwen, and she sincerely hopes his spider-sticky doesn't decide to stop working, or they'd both be in for a lot of pain. "Gwen," Peter says, sounding wrecked, "you look amazing." His eyes travel over her body and his cock jerks, hanging heavily between his legs.   
  
Gwen breathes to center herself and puts the vibrator back onto her clit. The jolt is hot this time, like a spark that sets her nerves on fire. She bites her lip and arches her hips into it, chasing the thrill of sensation. Above her, Peter rattles in a breath and wraps a hand around his dick, eyes stuck on where Gwen's rubbing slow circles around her clit.   
  
She can't take her eyes off him, either. His posture looks almost defensive, the way is back is pressed on the wall, but he also looks like he is one word away from landing on the bed and pressing into Gwen as closely as he can. Gwen sees a pearly drop of precome bead at the head of Peter's cock before he thumbs it away, and never before in her life as Gwen been so turned on by the visual of a penis. She wants it all over her body, unrealistic as it sounds. She pushes the vibe down a little so it rests against her entrance, and her clit throbs from the inattention. Gwen ignores her body's demands and pushes the vibe inside, just an inch or so, to see Peter's reaction.  
  
His breath catches in his throat loudly and an errant drop of precome lands on Gwen's belly. Boldly, she scoops up the drop and sucks it into her mouth, staring Peter right in the eye. He downright whimpers— which, wow, hot— and stops stroking to squeeze at the base. "Gwen," he says, sounding tortured, "'M not gonna last if you keep doing that."  
  
"Okay," she says. She wants to say " _Wanna see me come?_ " but she thinks he might actually explode if she does. She just assumes the answer would be yes and brings the vibe back to her clit. She works in tight, small strokes that build a tension low in her belly. She stares up at Peter the entire time, watching his cheeks flush and his hand work lightly on his cock to avoid coming. He's that way because of her, just from watching her, she realizes, and it's enough to push her over the edge. She grinds into the vibe and comes, moaning Peter's name. A second later, warm drops splash onto her stomach, jarring her out of her afterglow.  
  
"Sorry," Peter says sheepishly. "Couldn't catch it all."  
  
Gwen's a filthy person, she's learning, because she rubs the drops into the skin of her stomach and licks off the residue, and it feels awesome. It doesn't _taste_ awesome, but Gwen expected that.   
  
"Geez," Peter punches out, "you can't just do that, fuck." His eyes trace over her stomach, as if trying to find where his jizz coats her skin. "You're killing me."  
  
Gwen stretches and smiles. "Come down from there."  
  
Peter leaps off the ceiling and flips to land on his feet lightly. He promptly stumbles and has to catch himself on Gwen's headboard.  
  
"Did I make you weak at the knees?" Gwen teases, pillowing her arms behind her head. Now that she's come, she's completely at ease being naked in front of Peter. If he hasn't run away yet, he won't, she figures.   
  
"Shut up," Peter mumbles, falling into bed and half on top of her. Luckily, he's retained enough of his supernatural grace to prevent stabbing her with any sharp joints. "Do you still want to go out?"  
  
Gwen hums and runs her fingers through Peter's hair. It's part of the reason she agreed to date him in the first place; between his doe eyes and his permanently ruffled hair, he'd been too adorable to refuse. "What did you have in mind?"  
  
Peter scratches at where his come has dried on her stomach. It's itchy and unpleasant, now, and Gwen almost wishes she'd just wiped it off on her towel. Almost. "Walk around Central Park. There's a really massive elm I found the other day, and I thought we could sneak up some takeout and people-watch from the high branches. Or whatever. What do you want to do?"  
  
"We could stay here," Gwen muses, but takeout in a tree sounds kind of amazing, especially when she knows Peter will gladly carry her all the way up and all the way back down again. She's no damsel in distress, okay, but there is something incredible in having your boyfriend effortlessly tote you around like a princess. "But no, let's go. Is it nice out?" She only has one pair of denim shorts, but Gwen will be damned if she climbs a tree in a miniskirt.   
  
Peter presses a kiss to the curve of her breast, like he can barely realize he's in the presence of real-life boobs with real-life nipples. "It's gorgeous out," he says, "but wear sunscreen."  
  
Gwen runs her nails over the back of his neck, and Peter tilts his head into her chest and groans at how good it feels. She does it again.  
  
"Let's get burritos from that Mexican fusion place on 79th," she decides. "But first, I have to shower again."  
  
Peter exhales, warm, on her chest and levers himself off of her. "Right," he says, "I'll get dressed."  
  
Gwen pulls him into a kiss before he can climb off the bed. "We're both dirty," she points out, trailing a hand down Peter's stomach. "I'd feel bad if I cleaned up and you had to wander around Manhattan covered in... well, you know."  
  
"It does seem unfair," Peter agrees, eyes darkening. "Will your shower fit us both?"  
  
Gwen grins. "Only one way to find out."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that writing as Gwen Stacy is an honest-to-God pleasure.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/critiques are always welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's later than I usually post, but it's extra-long in recompense.
> 
> Alyson, un'beta'd, badabing badaboom.

Gwen should get this out of the way so she can feel horrible about herself and move on: dating Spider-Man may be stressful, but fucking Spider-Man is a revelation.  
  
There. She said it. Let the rotten tomatoes henceforth be thrown.  
  
It's stupid to feel guilty about objectifying the person you are actively having sex with, but Gwen still can't help feeling like a tool for admiring Peter's Spidey-tricks. Every time she watches him scale a wall she wonders how deftly he'd climb if she was sucking his cock at the same time. When he flips through the air or pulls some acrobatic move to land safely, she wants shove her hands beneath his spandex until he can barely walk from sensory overload.   
  
Gwen Stacy is a nasty, depraved person. At least she acknowledges it.   
  
Peter invites her over to his place after school. He saved a school bus full of eight year olds yesterday and has proclaimed that today is a rare off-day for him. He's turned off his police scanner and thrown his suit in the laundry, because Aunt May's at work and can't complain about the bleeding colors.  
  
They're supposed to be working on an analysis of _Beowulf_ ; apparently, even schools with "Science" literally written into their name have to offer English classes. Gwen would take a acid titration over this any day.  
  
So, of course, they end up making out on Peter's bed, _Beowulf_ forgotten on Peter's desktop. Peter's kisses are light and teasing, and Gwen's thirst for more is almost embarrassing. Every time she works to deepen a kiss, he pulls back and presses tiny kisses down her jaw. It's great, it really is, but Gwen keeps thinking of all that news coverage she's seen where Peter contorts his body into crazy positions in midair, and she wants to see just how much he can do.  
  
"Can I ask you a question?" she asks, tilting her head back so Peter can lick at the tendon in her neck. He follows the lick with a graze of his teeth, and Gwen nearly misses his affirmative hum under a wave of lust. "How much has the bite changed your body? I mean, I know you're stronger and your senses are more delicate, but what else did it do?"  
  
Peter shifts up onto his elbows. "Oh," he says, surprised, "this is a serious question."  
  
"Every question I ask is serious," Gwen says, mock-outraged. She grins when Peter laughs.  
  
"I don't know," Peter says, sitting up. "I'm a lot braver, I guess. I don't think I would have tried leaping off buildings before, even if I knew I'd be safe. I'm confident, now, that even if I miss a web or miscalculate a jump, I'll be safe. I think that's a spider thing. And I have the microhairs for sticking to walls and ceilings. Why do you ask?"  
  
Gwen shrugs innocently. She wants to play this right. She doesn't want Peter to think she's just in it to date Spider-Man, because she isn't, but she's so curious about the transformation. "I just see you on TV or in the streets, and you're so graceful. The things you can do with your body, Peter, they're incredible. I never really knew you before you snuck into that tour and got bitten, you know, so I was wondering how much of Spider-Man is actually 'spider,' and how much is just Peter."  
  
Peter grins, openmouthed and bright, and kisses her. "You're such a scientist," he says affectionately, nuzzling at her cheek. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Besides everything?" Gwen snorts before she can stop herself. "Um, so, like, your dexterity. Were you always so coordinated?"  
  
Peter chuckles. "No way," he replies. "I hid behind a camera for a reason. I think I grew up really fast or something, because I've always been clumsy. I still am, actually, but I'm better at hiding it. Reflexes and all that."  
  
"And the reflexes are a spider thing, too?" Gwen asks. "Because, as I'm sure you know, we tend to think of smaller creatures as much quicker than us, when in truth they operate at the same relative speed, but their smaller mass allows for faster movement. I think I even read somewhere that small animals like that perceive time more slowly."  
  
Peter sucks in a breath. "Wow, you've really thought this through." Gwen doesn't dignify that with an answer. She's Gwen Stacy, of course she's thought it through. "I don't really know? Usually time passes just like it always has, but when my adrenaline gets pumping I notice everything a lot more quickly. Like, I can see an entire series of events happening in the blink of an eye, and I can just, like, stop them from happening in just a few seconds. I can catch a fly out of the air. And it doesn't feel like I'm moving faster, it feels like the world is slowing down for me. Does that make any sense?"  
  
Gwen has never been more intellectually aroused in all her life. "So it's an adrenal response? But that would mean your reflexes are only hyper-vigilant when your fight-or-flight instincts are high."  
  
"They're normally kind of high," Peter says. "Everything is louder and brighter and more breakable, so I'm always on alert. Otherwise, I'd be curled up in a ball with cotton stuffed in my ears. That's what happened the first day, you know. I broke the bathroom sink and hid beneath my bed for two hours."  
  
"But don't you get tired?" Gwen asks. She's never considered the strain of going through normal life with Peter's heightened senses before. Living in a bustling city like New York must be hell.  
  
"Yeah, but I got used to it," Peter replies, scraping a hand through his hair. "If I really want time off, I put on noise-canceling headphones and make like a blanket burrito. But I know that there are people out there who need me, so I don't do it very often."  
  
"You're a remarkable man, Peter Parker," Gwen tells him, feeling warm. She's tempted to leave it at that and go back to studying or making out, lest she make a fool of herself in hero worship. Peter's her age, living a life nearly identical to hers, but his sense of justice and responsibility is so strong that he would rather risk his life and his sanity than let anyone suffer. Gwen can't say she's that selfless. She's too stuck in her habits and rituals to let crime-fighting tear through her daily regimen like that. Peter, though, has let Spider-Man take the reigns on his life. School, family, dates, all of it is put to the wayside when human life is at risk. Thank God he's a genius, or he'd be flunking out of school by now. Gwen could never let anything come between her and her chance to become something important.  
  
Maybe it's because Peter knows that he's already become something important. He doesn't need to use his brain to help people, he does that with his courage and spider-skills. He's already become the type of person that Gwen aspires to be.   
  
"Gwen?" Peter says, drawing her out of her reverie. "You still there? You blanked on me."  
  
Gwen shakes her head and smiles. "Sorry."  
  
Peter shrugs it off. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, or do you want to get back to our homework?"  
  
Well, between those two options, Gwen's choice is clear. "What about your flexibility?" she asks. "How flexible are you?"  
  
Peter grins and winks, clearly amused. "There's an innuendo in there somewhere, I know it."  
  
But Gwen doesn't want to joke. "Yeah," she says matter-of-factly, "there is. How flexible are you, Peter?"  
  
Peter swallows, his throat clicking audibly. "I— I dunno. I never really tested it."  
  
“It's about time, don't you think?”  
  
Peter nods dumbly. “What do you want me to do?”  
  
That's a loaded question and a half. “Let's google yoga poses,” Gwen suggests, “and go from there?”  
  
“Okay,” Peter says. He stretches his arms and legs, limbering up. “Let's do it.”  
  
Peter breezes through the intro poses, as expected. He moves from one to the next smoothly, like he's dancing with the floor. Gwen can already feel herself growing damp, and they haven't even done anything yet. He's just such a dichotomy of elegance and bashfulness, Gwen can't help but want him.  
  
Gwen thinks some of the moderate poses look tricky, but Peter flies through those, too. Gwen can't believe the ways he stretches himself. The firefly pose, which look awful to her, has Peter balance on his hands between his thighs, legs outstretched to the sides. Peter laughs and pushes up onto his fingertips, then, to Gwen's delight, just his index fingers. If that wasn't enough, he curls up his legs and straightens his spine until he's doing a handstand, still of just the pads of those two fingers. His legs fold gracefully down his back and touch the ground, and his torso follows a moment later. “What else?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips. “This is easy.”  
  
He peers at the screen and snickers. “Here, this one's good.” He flops onto the floor, starfished. “Reclining Hero. Or, superhero, rather. Reclining Vigilante, maybe. What do you think?”  
  
“You're an idiot,” Gwen giggles. “Okay, what about this one? The shoulderstand?”  
  
Peter glances at the screen and lifts up his legs and torso, balancing on his shoulders and forearms. Then, without prompting, he lets his legs fall over his head until the balls of his feet hit the floor. “I like this one,” he tells her, wriggling a little. “Bet it makes my butt look great.”  
  
He's clearly joking, but Gwen blushes anyway. It totally does. “Next pose?”  
  
Peter grins at her from under his legs. “Nah, I think I'll stay here a while,” he says teasingly. He readjusts his arms as if getting comfortable on the floor. “You go on ahead. Read me some _Beowulf_.”  
  
Gwen throws a pencil at him. He moves to catch it and his spine curls even more, pushing his legs a few more inches up the floor.   
  
“Whoa,” Peter whispers, eyes wide, “that's my crotch.”  
  
A horrible, beautiful idea dawns in Gwen's mind. She chokes on her own spit. Peter jumps out of the pose. “Gwen, are you okay?”  
  
“Fine,” she manages. She tries to shove the image of Peter sucking his own cock out his her head, but it sticks like recalcitrant chewing gum. “I'm fine. Uh, maybe we should stop?”  
  
“You look a little flushed.” Peter cocks his head. “Do you want some water?”  
  
Yeah, ice cold, all over her body. Gwen shakes her head. “No, let's just get back to _Beowulf_.”  
  
Peter fumbles with his hands and flushes. “No more making out?”  
  
Needless to say, they get no studying done that night, but Gwen gets an impressive hickey on her collarbone that she has to hide with concealer the next day at school. Judging by Peter's proud grin and her classmates' looks of shock, the makeup doesn't do its job well enough. Whatever, sexuality is healthy, and screw anyone who says differently.  
  
Over the course of the next two weeks Gwen tries not to think about Peter's supernatural flexibility and its many (many) uses. It's an impossible task; he's on the news almost every night, flipping and twisting in spandex, because God is just that cruel. Gwen's twice as frustrated as before, but she can't possibly talk to Peter about her strange new fantasy. He'd look at her like she was crazy at best or, at worst, avoid her like he did after her father's death. Gwen would rather never have sex again than make him uncomfortable like that.  
  
She goes through a full set of batteries trying to get sick of the fantasy or discover a new one or _anything_ , but it doesn't work. She really, really wants to see Peter sucking his own cock. His mouth is always open, biting at his lips or grinning that massive grin of his or stumbling over an answer for a teacher. He'd probably love to have it filled.   
  
Jesus, she has to stop thinking that way. She'll never get over her fetish if she keeps thinking about how perfect Peter's lips would look wrapped around a dick, or how his ass would flex as he tried to thrust into his mouth, strung out on getting off.   
  
_Not. Helping._  
  
If she's acting strangely, Peter doesn't mention it. He's as romantic and carefree as ever. Gwen almost wishes he's be a jerk to her, just once, so she could avoid him for a few days. No such luck.  
  
She's proofreading a scientific article for one of her superiors at Oscorp when she hears a knock on her window. "Come on in," she says, knowing he'll hear her through the glass. Peter rolls through her window and deftly avoids knocking over a vase on the table underneath the windowsill.   
  
"Hey," he says shakily.  
  
Gwen immediately spins around in her chair. Usually when he sounds like that, he's bleeding and swaying on his feet. This time, though, he just looks uncomfortable. "Uh, hey. What's up?"  
  
Peter slouches over to her bed and sits. "I just needed to be around someone, I guess. I discovered something and I don't know what to do about it."  
  
Gwen gasps. "Is it about your dad? Or the spiders?"  
  
"What? No," Peter says, looking even more miserable. "It's nothing that serious. God, I'm such an idiot." He wipes a hand over his face and stands. "Never mind. I'll let you go."  
  
Gwen leaves her desk chair to grab his hands. "Hey, no," she says, "whatever it is, I want you to feel comfortable coming to me about it, okay? Anything. I may not be able to swing from rooftops or knock someone's teeth out in one punch, but my ears are fully functional."  
  
Peter twists his arms in her grasp so they're holding hands. "I know," he says, "it's just, like, weird and personal and stuff. I dunno."  
  
Gwen snorts. "I think I'm pretty well-versed in 'weird and personal.' What's up?"  
  
Peter shuffles on his feet and bites his lip. "So I was goofing off in my room, doing some of those poses you showed me. I kept doing that last one, you remember?"  
  
Only too well. "Uh, yeah, I think so."  
  
Peter lets go of her hands and paces around her room nervously. "I shouldn't have come here," he says, more to himself than her. "I shouldn't be here, I should go."  
  
Gwen watches him patiently. Peter Parker is many things, loquacious is not one of them. "Peter."  
  
He stops and runs both hands through his hair. "I was in that pose and I remembered what we did _after_ that pose, and I, um...."  
  
"Okay," Gwen says, putting two and two together. She has a deep and darkly hopeful feeling that she knows exactly where this is going, but she wants to hear him say it, first. "I gotcha."  
  
"And, well, it was _right there_ ," he says helplessly. "I didn't even think about it. God, you must think I'm disgusting."  
  
Gwen bites the inside of her cheek and rubs her thighs together. Peter did it. He actually did it, and of his own volition. "No," she says lightly, "no, that's not the word I would use."  
  
"What is?" Peter asks indignantly. "I—" he gestures to his crotch "— with myself, and you aren't disgusted?"  
  
"Correct," Gwen says. "The words I would use are, in order from least to most prevalent, 'curious,' 'proud,' and 'turned-on like a mofo.'"  
  
"Turned on like a mofo?" Peter repeats weakly. "A mofo?"  
  
"That's what you're taking from this," Gwen says, rolling her eyes. "Of course it is."  
  
"Wait," Peter says, eyes widening, " _turned-on?_ As in—"  
  
"As in 'I think I'd like a demo,'" she interrupts. Peter blanches and she realizes how that came out. "I mean, only if you're comfortable with it, obviously. If this freaked you out in, like, the bad way, I won't force you to do it again. That would be bad."  
  
"No, that's— really? You want to see that?" Peter asks incredulously.  
  
It's Gwen's turn to bite her lip in shame. "I may or may not have thought of it as soon as you tried the pose," she admits, wincing. "And I can neither confirm nor deny fantasizing about it ever since."  
  
"Huh." Peter blinks at her repeatedly. "That... actually explains a lot."  
  
"Yeah," Gwen says awkwardly. "Sorry about that."  
  
"No, no, it's fine," Peter says, and there's something seriously backwards about him comforting her right now. "So, uh, you want a demo, you said?"  
  
Gwen clears her throat. "I mean, eventually, sure." She hates how tense the air is. This is exactly the type of conversation she wanted to avoid. "God, Peter, I don't know. I feel like such a pervert. I see you as Spider-Man and do you know what I think?  I don't think 'Wow, what a hero.' I don't think 'Oh, I hope he's okay.' I think, 'Jesus, the things that I want to do to that guy.' I think 'Holy God, I'm not sure if he's hotter in the spandex or out of it.' I can't watch the news without using Alfred."  
  
"... Alfred?" Peter asks, confused.  
  
"Yeah, you know," Gwen says, gesturing to her nightstand where the vibrator she can now officially call 'trusty' lies in the top drawer. "Because he helps me out and doesn't ask questions about it."  
  
Peter nods to himself and takes a step towards Gwen. "And you use it— him— when you see Spider-Man on the news? I get to you that much?" His lips curl up, almost like he's teasing her, but Gwen can tell there's a healthy chunk of honest delight thrown in there, too. He still can't believe she wants him so badly, even after all this time.   
  
"Everything you do gets to me," Gwen insists. "In increasingly sexual ways, too. It's ridiculous. No one should be as attracted to anyone as I am to you. You fall asleep in class and I want to wake you up by giving you head. Do you know how distracting that is?"  
  
Peter nearly falls over. "Motherhugging shit," he manages. "You cannot just say that. You cannot. I forbid it."  
  
"That?" Gwen asks. "That's nothing. I have way worse locked up in here." She taps the side of her head. "It's practically all I do anymore." She takes a step into Peter's personal space. "So, you tell me, who's the disgusting one, here?"  
  
Peter wraps his arms around her. "You're not disgusting. You could never disgust me, Gwen. I can't believe you think of me that way that often. You're just so beautiful, and I'm so lucky. I'd do anything for you, even if it's, like, webbing my body to the side of the Empire State Building and professing to be your sex slave for the rest of eternity. But, uh, I'd prefer if you not do that."  
  
Gwen giggles. "I'd prefer that, too. We can't give away your secret identity, after all."  
  
"See?" Peter declares. "This is how I know I can trust you. You know what I need. You know what keeps me safe. So, I mean, if you really want to see me, uh, do that to myself, I'll do it. But it's not my best angle, you know. Lots of, uh, exposure."  
  
"Oh no," Gwen says, mock-horrified. "Not the booty. I can't see the booty, I might die."  
  
"The booty," Peter echoes, smiling widely. "Right. Well, I guess if I can wear a skintight suit around New York City, I can share 'the booty' with my girlfriend."  
  
Gwen pecks him on the lips. "Let's make a deal. You do this for me, and I'll give you a voucher for one fantasy fulfillment of your choosing."  
  
"A voucher? How can I refuse a _voucher_?" Peter exclaims. Gwen shoves him, grinning, and he throws his hands up. "Okay, but seriously, no teenaged boy on this earth would turn that down. Just, uh, remember the good and forget the bad, okay? You gotta leave me with the idea of dignity, at least."  
  
"Done," Gwen says. She drops her hand to the button on Peter's jeans. "So hey, wanna know a secret?"  
  
Peter nuzzles down into her neck. "Yeah."   
  
Gwen's heart picks up speed when he presses soft lips to the vein in her neck, trailing up to suck on her earlobe. "Alfred went through three sets of batteries this month alone."  
  
Peter's gentle nips sharpen in surprise. "That's a lot of batteries."  
  
Gwen flips her hair over her shoulder and grinds against Peter. "It's a lot of batteries."  
  
Peter moans and grabs at her hips. "I want to taste you so bad right now. Can't we do that instead?"  
  
That's it, she's officially dating the hottest guy in the world. "The voucher is redeemable immediately," she offers. "If that's what you want."  
  
Peter nods hard against her neck. "Okay. Okay. I can do that."  
  
He pulls out of her space and peels off his shirt. His pants follow next, as well as his underwear. He sits on his bed, naked and half-hard. "You ready?"  
  
Gwen's been ready for this for two weeks. "Should I be naked? I feel like I should be naked."  
  
"Gwen, I want you to listen to me very closely," Peter says, hands on his knees. "If you're ever around me and you're wondering if you should be naked or not, the answer is always yes. Always."  
  
Gwen chuckles. "I'll keep that in mind." She pulls off her clothes quickly and sits in her desk chair.  
  
Peter lies down on the bed and shuffles down to the foot of it. "Here goes nothing." He pushes his feet above his head in one fluid motion, falling easily into the yoga pose. Gwen's breath hitches. It's not sexy yet, not really, but the anticipation is driving her nuts. Peter breathes out slowly, and his back curves more and more until his butt is directly over his head. His dick  hangs heavily down so that when he licks his lips he inadvertently licks his cock, too.   
  
Peter glances at her and licks it again. "I love you," he tells her quietly.  
  
It seems like such an inopportune moment to say that until Gwen realizes how vulnerable he is. His spine is three inches away from breaking, his most vulnerable areas are stuck in the air, and he's a teenaged boy about to suck his own dick. If there is a single moment where he needs validation the most, this is it.  
  
"I love you, too," she says with conviction. "And I love you so much for doing this for me."  
  
Peter gives her a breathtaking smile. "Okay." He turns back to his dick and suckles at the head of his dick, breathing loudly through his nose. Gwen feels her core pulse and crosses her legs. She has more important things to do right now than get herself off.  
  
Peter closes his eyes and lets his hips sink even further, swallowing more of his cock. His cheeks hollow as he levers his hips back up with his toes. He's fucking his own mouth. He's doing it. Gwen's pretty sure she's ruining her chair with how wet she is, but she couldn't care less. This is the single hottest thing that has ever happened to her, ever.  
  
Peter makes a tiny noise deep in the back of his throat and bobs his head as much as he is able. He can't take more than a few inches, but he makes those inches count. Gwen watches as he lolls his dick around in his mouth, laving slick trails over the red, delicate skin that gleam in the light.   
  
Perhaps even sexier than the actual act of sucking his own dick is how Peter gets _into it_ , like the entire world falls away and all that's left is the need for sensation. Gwen can feel wetness on her thighs cooling in the air. Peter has never been more gorgeous than he is right now.   
  
After a few minutes, Peter pulls off and lets his cock skid down his chin. "Gwen?" he asks. His voice is absolutely wrecked. "You okay?"  
  
"I should be asking you that question," she replies, surprised at how throaty her own voice has gotten. "You look amazing."  
  
Peter blushes. "So in this fantasy," he says conversationally, "how far do I go, here?"  
  
Gwen shifts in her chair and crosses her legs the other way. "How far are you comfortable going?"  
  
Peter levels her with a steady look. "How far do you want me to go?"  
  
Gwen's clit throbs. "All the way."  
  
Peter licks at his lips. "Okay." This time he takes as much of his cock as he can, sucking hard as he pulls back. He sets a brutal pace and no longer tries to hold back his moans. Gwen can see his legs shaking with effort and decides to encourage him along.   
  
"You look so good like this," she says, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "It's so much better than I imagined, Peter. You're so much better. It's so sexy, that you would do this for me, but look at how much you enjoy it. You love this, don't you?"  
  
Peter whimpers and shivers, shutting his eyes tight. He's close.  
  
"I want you to come for me now," she commands softly. "I want you to suck yourself so good that you come down your own throat. Can you do that for me?"  
  
Peter's body spasms and he moans, pumping his hips through his orgasm. Gwen almost sobs at how breathtaking he is. Peter lazily mouths at himself until he's oversensitive, then drops his legs down to the mattress, groaning at how his back stretches. "How'd I do?"  
  
"Absolutely perfect," Gwen tells him, in awe. "Singularly spectacular. You deserve an award."  
  
"I deserve a voucher," he jokes tiredly. "And then I deserve to cash in that voucher for something really awesome that I can't think up right now. But don't worry, it'll be really awesome."  
  
"I think you deserve a lifetime supply of vouchers, right about now," Gwen says. "I'm not kidding."  
  
"What about you?" Peter swivels his head in her direction borderline drunkenly. "Did you—?" He makes an exploding gesture with his hands. "Cause I know I promised to do a thing, but I'm not a hundred percent sure I can move a lot right now."  
  
"You don't have to do a thing," Gwen reassures him. "You've done enough. I can handle this."  
  
"Or, I mean, you could prob'ly sit on my face, or something'," Peter says, looking even sleepier. "I think I could probably handle that."  
  
Gwen makes to stand and follow through on his offer, but she restrains herself. She's wound up tight and he's exhausted. Fun as his suggestion might seem, she doesn't actually want to kill her boyfriend with sex. "No, it's okay. I got it. I'll just use Alfred."  
  
"Let me use Alfred, then," Peter says. "I wan' do it."   
  
Well, at least she can't smother him that way. Gwen stands, grimacing at the stain on her chair, and fetches Alfred from her drawer. "How do you want to do this?"  
  
"Straddle me," Peter says, "but stay on your knees. Don't sit." Gwen does as he says and places her vibrator in his outstretched hand. Before he uses it he drags a hand up her thigh and rubs along her slit. "Jes's, Gwen, you're so wet. All drippy."  
  
"Sorry," she says, suddenly mortified. "I got a little overwhelmed."  
  
"Don' apologize. S'hot. Super hot. Wish I could go another round with you. Bet you'd feel fantastic like this." He slips two fingers into her and thumbs her clit. Gwen rocks into him, but it isn't nearly enough. She needs some hardcore stimulation.   
  
"Use Alfred," she says. Peter grins and flicks on the vibe, sliding it through her slick and licking it clean.  
  
"One day," he promises her, "I'm gonna bury my face in you so hard you'll think 'm lookin' for something. But I'll only be looking for orgasms. Only them."  
  
Gwen nods. She's really in love with sleepy Peter. "That's a noble quest." She means to say more but Peter presses the vibe directly against her clit, and the power of language escapes her entirely. Peter works the vibe in little circles, just as Gwen had done that time they jerked off together. He must have been paying attention.   
  
She's been wet for a while, so the tension climbs quickly in her. Peter shoves three fingers from his free hand into her entrance. Gwen plunges forward, saving herself from landing on Peter by shoving her hands onto his shoulders. She whimpers, high and broken, and works her hips onto his fingers, desperate to find release. Peter curls his fingers and presses on her g-spot, like he knows exactly how to find it. Man, those Spidey-skills are useful. Gwen lets out an embarrassingly high noise and comes like a tidal wave is crashing around her. She barely hears Peter's satisfied hum, too intent on clenching around his fingers until the world stops spinning.   
  
She pulls off his fingers feeling swollen and beyond satiated. She curls into Peter's side, grumbling a tired "stop it" when he licks his fingers clean. It's way too sexy for her to appreciate right now. Everything is too sexy for her to appreciate now. "Is it wrong to fall asleep at seven at night?"  
  
"Not if you're eighty," Peter says, halfway asleep himself. "Or oversexed, probably. Go for it. We'll be eighty together."  
  
It's a true sign that Gwen's mind is tired that she considers that a promise, not a joke. She thinks she'd like to be eighty together with Peter Parker.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. I am so in love with them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when a family friend comes over when you're halfway through editing a smut scene. Help. 
> 
> This is my favorite chapter. I'm so excited to have you guys finally read it.
> 
> Alyson, my sweet flower, you're awesome. Un-beta'd.

Gwen really likes Aunt May, but the woman still makes her about ten different kinds of nervous. She's a hardworking, humble kind of person that makes Gwen feel like an over-privileged brat for getting born into a family with a high-rise apartment and overflowing funds. She keeps waiting for May to turn her nose up at Gwen's clothes or haircut, and she feels immeasurably guilty for expecting the worst in someone as pure as Peter's aunt.   
  
Peter invited her to have dinner, though, and she loves nothing more than to see him relaxed in a home environment. Before his hot-as-fuck acrobatics stunt in her bedroom, she'd told him that she doesn't worry about him when she watches the news because she's so focused on how sexy he is. That's not entirely true. She knows he'll be safe from muggers and pretty criminals, but he can't possibly save him from himself. Peter wears himself down until he's threads and duct tape, and that's more worrying than anything. Gwen wonders how far he'd let himself fall if he didn't have a support system. Webs can't catch him every time.  
  
Getting to watch him bicker with his family and grin carelessly is worth whatever discomfort Gwen feels around Aunt May. So at six sharp she knocks on the Parkers' front door, determined to see this through.  
  
Peter opens it, beaming. "Hey! Aunt May'll be here soon. Come on in." He ushers her through the door and hangs her jacket in a nearby closet. "Do you, uh, want a drink or anything? We have water, Diet Coke, and some sort of green tea Aunt May thinks is healthy."  
  
"Well with a description like that, how can I turn down the tea?" Gwen jokes, following Peter into the kitchen. "Water's fine."  
  
Peter shoots her a grin and uses his web shooters to grab a glass from the drying rack. He fills it with filtered water and hands it to her. "Wanna see something cool?"  
  
"Does it involve web shooters?" Gwen asks. "Because the answer to that is yes."  
  
Peter kisses her quickly and spins off to the stove. "We're having lasagna for dinner," he tells her. He's a blur of motion and webs, using the sticky strings to gather ingredients around himself. Gwen swallows, throat suddenly dry. He should know by now that she has a thing for him using his powers. Is he doing this on purpose?  
  
Sadly, Gwen doesn't think Peter even realizes what he's doing to her. He's the picture of innocence right now, humming what Gwen suspects is a Lady Gaga song while manning a saucepan full of tomato sauce and folding lasagna leaves into a pot. He dices cloves of garlic so quickly Gwen fears for his fingertips, then flips the knife into the air, doing a dumb little spin and catching it behind his back. The show-off.  
  
"This is probably a dumb question," Gwen says, crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together, "but do you want my help with anything?"  
  
"I'm good," Peter chirps, "but thanks. So how's the work grind going? Have you worked out the kinks in that beta wave algorithm yet?"  
  
Gwen watches him fetch a colander with a web and dump the pasta into it. Another web turns the heat off the sauce and a third grabs a casserole dish from a shelf above Gwen's head. Peter starts layering lasagna with scoops of sauce and ricotta cheese, lean forearms flexing. Gwen wants to lick them.  
  
"Gwen?"  
  
"Hmm?" She lifts her eyes from his hands. "What?"  
  
"The algorithm," Peter repeats, smirking.  
  
"Oh, right," Gwen says, taking a sip of her water. "No, yeah, it was just a thing." She flaps her hand. "No biggie."  
  
"A thing," Peter says, raising his eyebrows. "Right." He slings the door of the fridge open and snags a bag of shredded mozzarella. "Obviously it was a _thing_."  
  
Gwen would throw her shoe at him if she didn't already know he would catch it and throw it back. "Fuck you," she says instead. "You know lasagna takes like an hour to cook, right?"  
  
Peter grins sheepishly. "I may have invited you early to make sure we had some time before Aunt May gets home?"  
  
Gwen nods seriously. "Smart. Genius, actually."   
  
Peter puts the finished lasagna in the oven and washes sauce off his hands in the sink. "I thought so. So what do you want to do?"  
  
Sex. That's all Gwen wants to do around Peter these days. She shrugs. "Whatever you want."   
  
Peter webs her into his arms. "Well, I have this voucher, you know, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about it."  
  
Gwen takes a fortifying breath. "I'm listening."  
  
Peter presses an openmouthed kiss to her neck, licking at the skin between his lips. "Get on the island."  
  
Gwen's legs wobble when she moves to comply. She's always been in control of their encounters, and that's beginning to feel like an oversight on her part. She very, very much likes Peter-in-command. She crosses her ankles delicately to avoid spreading her legs like a wanton slut, which, hey, she is, but appearances are important.  
  
Peter grips at her knees and separates them so he can move in close to her body. His fingers dance up the outsides of her thighs, teasing at the hemline of her miniskirt. He brushes his nose down her jawline. "Panties off."  
  
Jesus. Gwen lifts her butt as much as she's able and slips her underwear down her hips, nudging Peter out of the way so she can kick them all the way off. It feels weird to be wearing thigh high socks with no underwear, but in a sexy way. Gwen should go to school this way once, just to say she did.   
  
Peter's hand grazes up her inner thigh, just shy of her folds. "Lie back." When she does, he webs her hands to the island by her head. "Is that okay?"  
  
Gwen tries to pull her hands up, but the webs have no give. " _Shit,_ yeah."  
  
"If you get uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop," Peter says, pushing her skirt up around her waist. He takes a breath and drops to his knees. Gwen cranes her neck to watch but it strains her wrists. She's totally in the dark, here. It's making her so wet, she's almost a little embarrassed.   
  
Peter drags a finger over her slit and follows the path with his tongue. Gwen thumps her head against the island in shock.   
  
"Crap, are you okay?" Peter asks, wrapping a concerned hand around her ankle.   
  
" _Do. Not. Stop_ ," Gwen hisses.   
  
Peter kisses her thigh and slides two fingers through her slick heat. Without preamble he attaches his mouth to her clit and sucks hard, flicking his tongue on the flesh between his lips, just as he'd done on her neck. A wave of heat rushes through Gwen and coats Peter's chin, and he laves over her opening to clean up the mess.   
  
It takes him a few minutes to decide how he wants to pleasure her, but Gwen is far from complaining. Every single thing he does feels incredible. She was right: Peter Parker was _made_ for this. He dots kitten licks up her folds before sliding two fingers into her heat and licking between them, each stroke ending at her clit.   
  
Peter moves, tilting his neck down so his head curves up into her. She hears a rustle of fabric and the smooth sounds of skin-on-skin. Peter groans and the vibrations make her legs quake. Peter heaves them over his shoulders and presses even closer. He loves this, she realizes under a wall of lust. He loves doing this to her. Gwen feels a bolt of pleasure zip through her body.  
  
"I'm close," she pants, nudging his back with her heel. "God, Peter, I'm close."   
  
He hums an acknowledgement and scrubs the flat of his tongue over her clit before sucking on it and moaning again. Gwen comes hard, clenching rhythmically around Peter's fingers. Peter milks her for it, pumping his fingers into her until she wriggles away, oversensitive.   
  
He stands and wipes at his mouth, which is shiny with her juices. He looks utterly debauched as he slices through the webbing on her wrists.  
  
As soon as her hands are free, Gwen grabs Peter by the front of his shirt and kisses him. He tastes of salt and musk and her, and she sucks his tongue in appreciation. Her hand falls to where his jeans are shoved down and wraps a hand around his cock. He pants into her mouth, hips stuttering into her fist.   
  
"Easy there, bug-boy," Gwen soothes. "I gotcha." She strokes him long and slow, picking up the pace when he makes a desperate noise. He drops his head to her shoulder and whispers, "Please, Gwen, please, I need you. Please."  
  
Gwen pushes him back a few inches and he scrabbles for her until she stands and swivels them around so he's the one pressed against the island. "Gwen, what're you— oh, fuck."  
  
Gwen looks up at him from her new position on her knees. He swallows while she pumps his cock, but his eyes flutter shut as soon as she takes him into her mouth. Gwen knows little about blowjobs, but she does her best to keep her teeth out of the way and keep up steady suction, and it seems to work. After she gains a little confidence she starts to lick at the head on the upstroke and shove the point of her tongue along the underside on the downstroke. Peter's hands clutch at the edge of the island so hard Gwen can hear the wood creaking. She's doing that to him. Fucking hell, that's hot.  
  
Peter pushes at her shoulder and gasps, "Gwen, Gwen, pull away, I'm close."  
  
Gwen pulls off him completely, stroking lightly around his base, just enough keep him sane. "What do want me to do?" she asks. "This is your voucher, Peter. Do you want to come in my mouth? On my face? I'll do whatever you want."  
  
"Motherhugger," Peter gasps. "Gwen."  
  
"Tell me," she commands.   
  
"Mouth," he blurts. "In your mouth."  
  
"Alright." Gwen's relieved he didn't actually decide to come on her face. It sounds really unpleasant. She fits the head of his dick between her lips and sucks hard, jerking the rest of him off with her fist. Peter's hips jerk and she moves to compensate, but an extra inch slides into her mouth, anyway. She tongues at his slit and fondles his balls with her other hand, uncaring of how that extra inch made her jaw ache. Peter deserves this.  
  
He whines and spills into her mouth. Gwen suckles at him while he works through his orgasm, collecting his spunk on her tongue. She means to spit it out, but the sink is far away and swallowing is just easier. Plus it kind of makes her feel like a porn star. Gwen gets to her feet, knees shaky, and lets Peter pull her into his arms.  
  
"You are the best girlfriend ever," he informs her, resting their foreheads together. "I could write poems about you. I should. Roses are red, violets are blue...."  
  
"Gwen Stacy's good at sucking cock, and fucking cock, too," Gwen finishes, giggling. Peter collapses onto her in laughter.  
  
"Not exactly the way I'd put it," he replies, grinning. "My poetry would probably be more, 'Gwendolyn, thine hair gloweth like the morning rays of sunshine. Thine skin would make even the greatest of warriors weep in reflected glory. How fortunate, that you should pick a clumsy chump such as I upon which to bestow your sweet, sweet kisses.'"  
  
"Wow," she says, "that's actually kind of sweet."  
  
"Geez, okay," Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I see how it is. 'Kind of' sweet. Stab my heart, while you're at it."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Gwen says straight-faced. "Let me try again. 'Lo, and Peter did web my heart, just as he webbed my hands to the table, with his freestyle poems of romance. Might I still have my maidenhood, so that I could give it to him again and again to prove my love.' Better?"  
  
"It's a little rough," Peter says mock-seriously, "but I'll take it."  
  
Gwen grins, and Peter hangs his head to hide his own wide smile. God, she is so in love with this boy. Every single moment of worry she feels while he's out being Spider-Man is worth it if she can have this. Gwen wishes she could express that to him, so he could understand why she stays, and why she'll always stay. Gwen would never walk away from this, not even if her life depended on it.  
  
"So we still have, like, half an hour until Aunt May's due home," Peter says. "Adventure Time?"  
  
"Mathematical," Gwen says. "Let's go."   
  
They curl up on the sofa and load Netflix. Peter reclines and tugs Gwen on top of him, webbing a nearby blanket to cover them.  It's really comfortable, even if they are both thin and pointy in places. If Gwen were more of a Harlequin person, she'd say they fit together, so their pointy bits don't collide. Luckily for everyone, she's not that kind of person.   
  
They get through two and a half episodes before they hear keys at the door. "My underwear," Gwen gasps, horrified. They're in the middle of the kitchen floor, and she has no time to grab them. Thank God she's dating Spider-Man, because Peter tilts his head back and webs them.  
  
"You're about to hate me," he says, "but I'm holding these hostage until the end of the night."  
  
"What?" Gwen replies frantically. "Peter, stop joking around, you Aunt is— hi, Mrs. Parker."  
  
May closes the front door and smiles at them tiredly. "Hello, Gwen. Peter, did you make dinner?"  
  
"It's in the oven," he tells her innocently, as if he doesn't have Gwen's underwear balled up in his fist. "It'll be ready in another ten minutes or so."  
  
"You're a good boy," she says, relieved. "I'm going to get out of my uniform, I'll be right back."  
  
"Okay!" Peter says.  
  
Gwen waits until May's bedroom door closes before she slaps Peter on the chest. "You are _not_ a good boy," she hisses. "Give me my underwear back."  
  
"Take them from me and you can put them on again," Peter challenges, grinning.   
  
Gwen shakes her head, her teeth set crooked against each other. Peter's reflexes are twice as fast as hers. She'll never get them back. "You're a cocky little asshole and I hate you."  
  
"No you don't," Peter sing-songs back. "Relax, Aunt May won't know a thing." His free hand slides down her back and under her miniskirt. "And it's really, really hot."  
  
Well, she _was_ contemplating going to school commando earlier. And he's right, Aunt May won't have a clue. "Fine," she sighs. "But next time we hang out we're doing one of my scenes, no exceptions."  
  
Peter sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Mutual orgasms? Ugh, steep price. I dunno."  
  
"I'll pick a really good one," Gwen promises, arching into the hand on her ass so it slips between her thighs.   
  
Peter's fingers dance on the skin of her thigh and graze her slit. Gwen would have thought it an accident, had she not seen Peter's pupils widen. Because she could, she spreads her legs an inch and wriggles until Peter's fingers slip between her folds. "Think about it."  
  
Peter bites at his lip and rubs one finger down to her clit. She's still damp from earlier, but she can feel a new wave of wetness building inside her. "After careful consideration," he says, rubbing her in tight circles, "I've decided to accept your request."  
  
Oh, what has she done? Aunt May's just upstairs and she's wet again. "Peter, don't do this," she whispers, "dinner's almost ready."  
  
"I can hear her," Peter says, as if reading her mind. "But she'll be another five minutes. I'll know as soon as she comes out of her room."  
  
This is insane. "This is insane," she tells him. "You can't do this right now." Peter slides his other hand between their bodies so he can rub at her clit with one hand and push inside her with the other. "Shit, Peter, come on."  
  
"Can I get you to come in less than five minutes?" he asks, eyes alight. "I bet I can. You'll have to be quiet, though. Can you do that for me?"  
  
It's too much. She can't make him stop now. Gwen nods and squeezes her eyes shut. God, she hates him.   
  
Peter presses a kiss to her hair and starts working his fingers in earnest. Gwen hides her face in the hollow of his neck and grinds into his touch, biting at the collar of his shirt to muffle her moans. Peter breathes unevenly as the fingers working at her clit slide back to her entrance to gather the moisture there before returning to their task, slippery.   
  
Gwen can't decide whether it's better to thrust back against Peter's fingers inside her or forward against the ones massaging her clit. She's surrounded by a world of sensation, grounded only by the wall of Peter's warmth on her front. "Harder," she breathes, "do me harder."  
  
Peter's breath hiccups and he adds a third finger, scraping gently at her clit with a fingernail. The pleasure in Gwen's body kicks up a notch, and she's more desperate to find release than ever. Peter's hands work at her furiously, pushing that pleasure higher and higher until it peaks. Gwen hides her face even deeper into Peter's shoulder and moans as she comes, arching into Peter's hands.  
  
Peter slides his fingers out of her and sucks the wetness from both hands. "Fuck, Gwen, you're so sexy," he groans, pushing his erection up against her stomach.   
  
"Bet you're regretting that now, aren't you?" Gwen retorts, still hazy from afterglow. She grimaces at how swollen she feels. She just knows the lining of this skirt will be a mess by the end of dinner.  
  
"Not even for a second," Peter says, beaming. "Come on, get off me. Aunt May's almost done."  
  
They're setting the table by the time Aunt May comes down. Gwen hopes they look halfway presentable. She can definitely see the limp in Peter's walk, but that might be because she's watching for it. He deserves to suffer a little, the jerk.  
  
Dinner is surprisingly pleasant. Aunt May is a total sweetheart who compliments Gwen on her shirt and sends Peter approving looks over his seriously delicious lasagna. Gwen talks a little about her work at Oscorp, but it's difficult to get into detail without falling into scientific jargon. May cracks a joke about how Peter's dad used to mutter to himself using such complicated words that May honestly thought he was speaking a different language. Gwen and Peter both laugh, and May flushes with happiness. It's adorable.  
  
Gwen tries to ignore the looks Peter keeps sending her. They're these brief, heated glances that remind her that, as much as they're laughing and conversing now, he hasn't for a second forgotten about what they did on the sofa. They're little promises, each and every one.  
  
Annoyed, because he did this to himself, the asshole, Gwen slides off her shoe and lifts her foot to rest against the front of his chair between his legs, so her toes just graze his crotch.  
  
"So, Mrs. Parker," she says, ignoring Peter's outraged expression, "how was your shift today? I want to hear _all_ about it."  
  
Gwen Stacy 1, Peter Parker 0.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else needs a glass of water? I know I do!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize in advance, because this chapter isn't as steamy as the last two. This is actually the first scene I imagined for this story, and it was also the hardest to write. Hopefully that doesn't show too much.
> 
> You guys know the drill by now. Alyson. Un-beta'd. Read forth, amigos.

Choosing the right fantasy to use on Peter takes some time. Gwen wants it to be really good but also undeniably kinky. She's enjoying kinky sex a lot.   
  
Midterms at Midtown Science are coming up, so sex of any kind, kinky or non-kinky, takes the back-burner for a few weeks. Gwen's got science and math in the bag, of course, but her Brit Lit class is really punching her lights out. Mr. Wasowski expects them to know every line from every poem and every tiny action in every novel. It's a ridiculous amount of work for anyone, but for someone as busy as Gwen it's nearly impossible. She would never admit it to anyone other than her MacBook, but she totally used SparkNotes on a few of the assignments to save time. She hopes that won't come back to bite her on the ass.   
  
She finagles Peter into giving up the suit for a few days to study. He argues that saving lives is more important than getting an A in every subject, but Gwen reminds him that this city has lived on for centuries before Spider-Man, it can survive for four days more. It's difficult to refute her logic. Peter put away the suit, with the caveat that he _would_ take action if something really serious happened. Petty crime won't devastate New York, but another supervillain might.  
  
Of course Gwen agrees. If someone was terrorizing New York in a serious way, she's be out there, too, especially if she knew she could stop it. That's just common sense.   
  
Peter comes over the night before their Brit Lit exam to do one last studying kick. He uses the front door and everything. Gwen is proud of him for that, which she tells him as soon as they're in her room.  
  
"Yeah, well," Peter says, "I figured, hey, I take down criminals for a living, I can get past this doorman, even if he does have more muscles than I can count. And this way, I won't have to hide if your mom comes and checks on us."  
  
"Logic like that, you'll fly through midterms," Gwen says, grabbing them both glasses of water. "You might not even need webs to do it, either."  
  
Peter snorts and accepts the drink. "So, how are things? I feel like I haven't seen you in a two weeks."  
  
"You saw me this morning," Gwen says dryly, but she knows what he means. In a city like New York, it takes a concerted effort to see the people you want to see, and Gwen's been too busy for any of that. "Oscorp's been kinda nuts lately. I think Mr. Osborn's disease is getting worse and he's getting scared. I've never seen our scientists so frantic."  
  
"And frantic scientists do not good science make," Peter says, reaching for Gwen's hand. "That sucks."  
  
"Yeah, well, it could be worse." Gwen tangles their fingers together. "I don't mean to dig up buried hatchets, but thank you for staying with me these last few months. I don't know why you decided to give up on fighting me, but I do know that it's made me a lot happier."  
  
Peter tenses, and Gwen really hopes he hadn't forgotten about her dad's demands and she just reminded him. That would be bad. "I can't promise it won't happen again," he says slowly. "If something really bad comes into town, I want you safe so I won't have to worry about you. I fight better when I know that I'm only putting myself in harm's way. You're no victim, Gwen Stacy, but you could be a hostage, and I would hate myself if I ever let you get put into that situation. But, until I have reason to fear for your safety, your happiness is more important. So's mine. And we're happier together than we are apart."  
  
"Plus," Gwen says, hoping to lighten the mood, "sex."  
  
Peter laughs and squeezes their knotted fingers. "And there's that."

They walk to Gwen's room and spread their studying materials all over the floor. Gwen has detailed, color-coded notes on all of the works they've read so far, so she and Peter take turns quizzing each other on facts and quotes until neither of them can see straight. Gwen hates T.S. Eliot. She's sure he was a wonderful person, or whatever, but she hates him. Stupid fucking symbolism.  
  
When they feel confident that they know the objective components to every poem and story, they review the subjective meanings of them, too. Wasowski hinted at a lot of themes, but Gwen knows from experience that his questions often demand personal interpretations, and some interpretations are "wrong." It's bad teaching, Gwen thinks, but knowing that won't get her an A.  
  
Peter's better at this part than her. He can point to a line of dialogue and go, "See? This character's supposed to represent hope and subsequent disillusionment. It's right there."  
  
Gwen smacks him more than once. It is _not_ right there, okay? No. She can't see a thing.  
  
Gwen's mother comes in at ten and casually reminds them both that they have school tomorrow. Peter can take a hint, so he packs up his things to leave. "Do you have more midterms after this one?  
  
Midtown Science spreads their exams out over five days to mimic a college environment. Students don't have to come to school if they don't have a test to take, but they will automatically fail the course if they try to skip. Peter, she knows, has already taken his other six exams, so this is his last one. He has the rest of the week free.  
  
"No," she sighs. "I have AP Gov Friday morning."  
  
"That sucks," Peter commiserates.  
  
"Tell me about it," she sighs. "Saturday? I have the day off of work, so we can do whatever you want."  
  
"Okay," Peter says. "I agreed to help Aunt May repaint the living room in the morning, but I should be free by early afternoon. Sound good?"  
  
Gwen leans over and kisses his cheek, hissing at how stiff her back has gotten. "Sounds good."  
  
Peter digs his fingers into her shoulders, where the tension is the worst. "Your back is hard in the gross way," he informs her. "Think your mom would mind if I stayed a few more minutes?"  
  
"Are you offering me a back rub right now?" Gwen asks. "Because screw what my mom thinks, you can stay all night for that."  
  
Peter nudges his shoulder against hers and grins. "Get on the bed, Ms. Stacy, and prepare to be amazed."  
  
Gwen gets to her feet, feeling her joints pop, and flops onto the bed. Peter stands, fluid and easy as ever, and straddles her butt. Gwen opens her mouth to crack a dirty joke, but Peter pushes his thumbs into the muscles under her shoulder blades and the words come out as a moan.   
  
Peter's hands, used to clinging to thin strings of web and tiny ledges, are unbelievably strong as they rub at the knots in her back. Gwen wonders if he can sense the spots of tension in her back with some other level of Spidey-sense or if he's just really good at guessing. Either way, he is systematically melting her brain right now.  
  
"Tell me if I'm pushing too hard," he says softly, pressing his thumbs down her spine.  
  
"'S so good," Gwen murmurs. She's halfway to becoming one with the mattress. She'll have to take her exam with a brain full of mattress foam. It's fine.  
  
Peter huffs a laugh and presses the butt of his hand just below the knob of her spine. Gwen feels a vertebra crack and above her Peter freezes. "Gwen? Oh god, Gwen, did I just break you? Oh fuck."  
  
"Peter," she mumbles, "I'm fine. That happens to backs. Good job."  
  
"Okay," Peter says, heaving relieved sigh. "Okay. Sorry."  
  
He keeps at it for another few minutes, until Gwen's practically putty in his hands. "Better?"  
  
"I may never get up again," she tells him, sighing. "I'll just fail the midterm tomorrow, no biggie."  
  
Peter laughs and leans over her to kiss her cheek. "If you fail, I'll steal valedictorian from you," he threatens lightly.  
  
"Fuck you, Gwen replies, smiling. "You're the worst."  
  
"I know," Peter says, climbing off her and scooping up his backpack. "You hate me forever and ever."  
  
Gwen rolls onto her back and gives him a small smile. "I love you a lot."  
  
Peter bites his lip and smiles. "I love you a lot, too."   
  
Gwen rolls to her feet. "Let me walk you to the door."  
  
Gwen's mom surreptitiously watches them from the kitchen the entire time, so Gwen kisses Peter on the cheek and squeezes his ass, where her mom can't see. "I haven't forgotten about my promise," she tells him. "The one from the couch at your place?"  
  
Peter's eyes widen. "Right, that promise. Uh, yeah. Sure. When?"  
  
"Saturday still good?"  
  
"Saturday, yeah," Peter says, nodding. He scratches at his hair. "Yeah, Saturday. Cool. Uh, yeah. Any hints?"  
  
Gwen smiles at him innocently. "Be hydrated."  
  
Peter trips over air. "Right, yeah. Hydrated. Because I'll need the water. For things. Hydration."  
  
"You're not making a lot of sense right now," Gwen says, smirking. "Now skedaddle. I have sleeps to sleep."  
  
Peter glances at her mom and pecks her on the lips. "See you tomorrow." He opens the door and spins out in that awkward-adorable way of his. Gwen shuts the door and makes her way into the kitchen to get a glass of water before she goes to bed.  
  
"You know," her mother says, "I know your dad and Peter got off on the wrong foot, but I think your dad really would have liked him, if he saw the way he treated you."  
  
Gwen crosses her arms and smiles shyly. "Yeah, I think so, too."  
  
  
The midterm is just as hard as she'd feared it would be, and she's glad Peter and she studied. They both ace the test, though, so Peter takes her out for ice cream and webs them up to the top of the Chrysler building. Yeah, _that_ Chrysler building. Dating Spider-Man has definite perks.   
  
New York is stressful at the best of times and impossible at the worst, but Gwen's gotta say, it is gorgeous at night. Peter gives her his jacket and they spend the evening quizzing each other on which constellations they can barely make out through the lights and air pollution. It's less dystopian than it sounds.  
  
Gwen spends all day Thursday studying for her AP Government exam, which ends up being far easier than she expected. After the test she treats herself to a facial and, after due consideration, a very thorough bikini wax for Saturday. Bikini waxing, she discovers, is a singularly awkward and painful experience. It hurts so much she practically waddles out of the spa, and she'll definitely never look that spa technician in the eye ever again, but she totally does a nude mini-fashion show in front of her mirror that night and loves that she is now lady-scaped. Hello adults, yes, this is Gwen Stacy reporting for duty. Don't worry, I am lady-scaped and ready for action. Where do I go to file for an IRA?  
  
Okay, she's being silly, but she spent half an hour letting an old Vietnamese lady closely examine her nethers; she's allowed to be silly about it. And Jesus, the judging stare of that woman was fierce. It's not like she asked to get her boyfriend's initials shaved into her pubic hair, or something.  
  
While on that subject, it should be noted that Gwen is _never_ getting Peter's initials shaved into her pubic hair. She can't actually get "P.P." _on_ her peepee. The fourth wall of the Universe would probably collapse on her at the cosmic irony of it all.  
  
Apart from her fashion show and the vindictive destruction of her midterm review sheets, Gwen's life is blissfully quiet, for once. No rushed reports on amino acids or DNA sequences, no homework, no heartstopping news on New York's favorite vigilante, nothing. It's awesome.  
  
Peter texts her Saturday morning, which Gwen spends goofing off on the Internet. _Aunt May says we'll be done by 1pm, and then she has work. Wanna come over around 1:15 or so?_  
  
 _Sure._ Gwen smoothes down her skirt even though she's sitting at her desk. Suddenly the relaxed air in her room leaves. The time has been set. This is happening.  
  
 _Do I get any hints? About what we're doing?_  
  
Gwen considers texting him something way out of left field, like "I'll bring the whips, you bring the chains," or "Hope you're into knife play," but she thinks that's too cruel. _How long can you stay upside-down?_  
  
It's an honest question that's relevant to what Gwen wants to do today, but it doesn't give anything away. Plus, she really does need to know, because that might affect her options.  
  
 _Wow, do I want to know why you're asking that?_ And, in a separate message: _The longest I've gone is twenty minutes to avoid setting off an alarm during a bank robbery._  
  
Twenty minutes should be fine. _Thanks. :)_

 _Wait, that's not a hint._ Gwen can practically hear his voice tinging on a whine. _Give me something real_.  
  
 _You'll be getting something real at 1:15._  
  
Peter doesn't reply, and Gwen just _knows_ he moping like the sad puppy he is. He might even be sticking his tongue out at the screen, like he does when he loses 2048.  
  
Now that she's at attention, the lack of productive things to do sets Gwen's nerves on edge. She could clean her room, but she did that last week, and it's still pretty spotless. She could reorganize her closet, maybe, but she likes her current system. What is there to do on a Saturday morning?  
  
Gwen scrolls through Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram and Twitter before shoving away from her desk, bored to tears. She must have something interesting to do, right? A book to read or a movie to see?  
  
At a loss, she watches Community reruns and does Sudoku puzzles from a book her grandmother sent her at Christmas. At noon she gives up and starts getting ready. The New York subway system is unreliable, she tells herself, so it's best to leave with time to spare. Just to be sure.  
  
So of course she ends up being twenty minutes early, and the only stores near Peter's house are grocery stores and one sketchy-looking sex shop. She almost goes into the sex shop regardless, until she sees the leer the shopkeep sends her. No thank you, kind sir. She wanders the block until Peter texts her. _You are such a creep. Just come in, already. We're almost done._  
  
Well, that's 50 Shades of Embarrassing. _Okay,_ she sends. She walks to Peter's house and follows the sounds of life to the kitchen.   
  
"Hello, dear," Aunt May says brightly. "Peter told me you'd be stopping by."  
  
"Did he, now?" Gwen eyes him suspiciously.  
  
Peter shrugs. "I know you. Let me guess, you gave yourself way too much time in case the subways made you wait, because god forbid you be late?"  
  
Gwen scoffs, and it sounds false to her own ears. "... No," she lies, "that is not what happened."  
  
Peter laughs. "That is _totally_ what happened. Just make yourself at home, we'll be done in like five minutes."  
  
"Help yourself to anything in the fridge," May says helpfully. "There's meatloaf!"  
  
Above Aunt May's head, Peter grimaces and shakes his head, warning her off from taking May up on her offer.   
  
"That's alright," Gwen says, smiling politely. "I had lunch."  
  
Peter and Aunt May finish up the trim work and May goes to get changed for work. The room is now a soft, warm green. "I really like the new paint," Gwen compliments. "Goes well with the furniture and everything."  
  
"Thanks, Peter says, bending to kiss her hello. "I'm gonna go scrub the paint off my arms. Did you really have lunch? Because I'm hungry."  
  
Gwen checks to make sure May is still in her room. "I'm starving," she whispers. "I just said that because you've told me about her meatloaf before."  
  
"Good call." Peter walks into the kitchen and scratches his nails against the green streaks at his arm under the faucet. "We have fixings for sandwiches?"  
  
"That's fine by me."  
  
Aunt May shouts a goodbye when she leaves, and Gwen and Peter stuff themselves with turkey and provolone on rye. "So," Peter starts once they're finished, "that message was pretty cryptic. Am I going to be clinging to walls today, or were you just curious?"  
  
Gwen grins and leads him up to his room. "I was just thinking, you know," she says, peeling off her shirt, "being Spider-Man means you can do all sorts of otherwise impossible things. It's our duty as scientists to know just how much you can do."  
  
She shimmies out of her skirt and Peter nods, yanking off his paint-covered t-shirt. "I love science," he says. He kicks off his pants. "We should definitely do that."  
  
He steps forward and kisses her, dragging light hands over her exposed skin. "I missed you these last few days."  
  
"I missed you, too." It's almost stupid, because Gwen went seventeen years without Peter in her life, and now she can't imagine life without him. Even three days felt like a lot.  
  
Peter nudges her face to the side so he can press tiny, hot kisses down her neck. Gwen inhales sharply and winds her arms around his neck, letting their bodies drag together. Wow, yeah, she _really_ missed him.   
  
Peter's hands dance down her sides and slide careful fingers just under the waistband of her panties. "Take them off," Gwen tells him. Lust curls within her, so easily excited when Peter's around.   
  
Peter hooks his thumbs in her panties and sinks to his knees as he pulls them down. "Oh my God," he breathes, confronted with her significantly barer vagina. "What have you done?"  
  
Put that way, it sounds like Peter dislikes the change. "Do you hate it?" Gwen asks, feeling stupid and nervous. "I thought you might like it, but, I mean, it'll grow back eventually."  
  
"Gwen," Peter says, catching her eyes and fuck, Peter looks ridiculously good on his knees, "it's amazing. You're amazing. Did it hurt?"  
  
"A little," Gwen says, but even she can hear how false that sounds. "Okay, it hurt a lot, but it's worth it. I wanted things to be clean for our, um, activity of the day."  
  
Peter traces a finger along where her thigh joins her hip and inward. "You're so smooth," he whispers. "So soft. But Gwen, you know that you don't need to do that for me, right? I don't want you to go torture yourself for my benefit, least of all on something like this. I'm happy either way."  
  
"I know," she says. "and this was for me, too. I wanted to know what it was like. But mostly this is for what I have planned for today.  
  
Peter presses the heel of his hand to his dick, letting his eyes fall shut. He must be really excited to see what Gwen has in store for them today. "Tell me what you want me to do."  
  
Gwen steels herself with a deep breath. "Get on the wall, head down."  
  
Peter nods and stands, shucking the rest of his clothes. He's already most of the way hard. "Wait," he says, "facing the wall or facing away?"  
  
"Facing me."  
  
In a complex flip that Gwen can't quite follow, Peter leaps onto the wall in precisely the position she wants him. "Like this?"  
  
Gwen takes a couple of steps toward him. "A little higher."  
  
Peter shifts up. "Okay, this?"  
  
Gwen takes another step closer. Her crotch is directly in line with his head, and his with hers. "Perfect."  
  
Peter sucks in a breath. "Oh my God. Oh my God, Gwen." His dick twitches, right in front of her face. Gwen won't lie, it's more than a little intimidating.  
  
"I can't guarantee this'll work," she says, fighting to keep her courage up. "And you have to tell me if you get uncomfortable, or anything."  
  
Peter breathes out slowly, and the air blows hot over her freshly bare skin. "Yeah, okay."

Gwen nods to herself and, before she can lose her nerve, slides Peter's cock into her mouth. Peter spasms and moans. "Fuck, Gwen."  
  
Gwen bobs a little and shimmies her hips to get Peter's attention. This is half his job, too, you know. His hair brushes her thighs a second before she feels his nose jostle her clit. It's a little awkward. Peter shifts his body and reaches out more, and Gwen gasps as he gets his mouth on her.   
  
It takes them a little while to make everything work. Peter eventually clamps his arms around her thighs to keep himself steady, and Gwen uses a hand to stroke at the length of his cock that she can't reach. Soon the lingering sense of weird leaves and Gwen can focus on how much she likes the weight of Peter on her tongue and the growing jolts of pleasure she feels from her core.  
  
Peter licks at her clit and past it, over her entrance. Gwen groans and he moans, and it's like a feedback loop of sensation. Every time she does something he likes, like pulling back to suck hard on his head, Peter reciprocates with something that feels amazing. She nearly loses her balance when Peter curls forward and sticks his tongue all the way inside her. His abs clench under her chest and Gwen can't help but pull off him briefly to lick up— or, rather, down, she supposes— the line of hair leading back to his cock. Peter shivers and strokes his fingers over the insides of her thighs, stretching her folds apart so he can bury his tongue even deeper.  
  
Gwen bobs down as far as she can go, letting Peter hit the back of her throat. It bothers her gag reflex, but she breathes past it and pushes ever further. She only makes it another inch or so before instinctual tears pool at her eyes, forcing her to pull away. She hollows her cheeks while she does it, refusing to let her inexperience make this bad for them.  
  
Peter's head hits the wall with a dull sound. "Jesus _Christ_ ," he whimpers, hips jerking involuntarily. "Gwen, do that again and this is all over."  
  
Gwen pulls off him completely, eyeing the string of saliva that hangs between them. "Sorry." God, her voice is _ruined_.  
  
"Fuck, you sound so sexy," Peter moans. "You gotta give me a minute."  
  
Gwen rubs her hands down his sides and waits for his breathing to even out. "You okay?"  
  
"More than," Peter says. "Gwen, I'm about to make you feel so good, you won't know how to handle it. You just wait."  
  
He renews his grip on her thighs and buries himself between them. He attacks her clit and stretches one arm so he can thrust two fingers into her. Gwen digs her nails into his hips and sucks him back into her mouth, intent on returning the favor. She mimics the rhythm with which Peter's driving fingers into her, torn between wanting to concentrate on her task and wanting to surrender to the lust piling higher and higher in her spine. Peter hums and twists his fingers, causing Gwen to clench around him as a wave of heat rumbles down to her toes.   
  
She deepthroats Peter again, desperate to make sure he's just as close as she is. She ignores the discomfort in her throat and swallows around him. Gwen needs him to come, she needs to feel him pull taut like a bow around her. She needs to give this to him.   
  
Peter groans warningly and Gwen takes him deep one more time. He jerks and hot come fills Gwen's mouth. She milks him through it, itching with the need to find release.  
  
"Please," Peter begs brokenly, "it's too much." Gwen shudders and buries her face into the meat of his thigh. She's so turned on she can barely stand.  
  
Peter presses long, flat licks all the way up her slit, mopping up her wetness, and sucks so hard on Gwen's clit that she sees stars. Gwen clutches at his hips and whines. She's so close, she can almost taste it. Peter curls his fingers and mouths at her, patient and content, and Gwen comes, shouting.

Peter pulls back as soon as Gwen shifts, oversensitive. She steps back on unsteady legs so he can fall to the floor. Peter drags her to his bed and kisses her. She can taste herself on his lips and knows that he must taste himself too, judging by the eager way he pulls her forward into the curl of his body.   
  
"I don't even know how to describe how great that was," he says, rubbing a thumb over her hipbone. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."  
  
"Ditto, bug-boy," Gwen says, letting her eyes fall shut. She doesn't want to fall asleep, but the warmth of Peter's body against hers is too comforting to resist. "Love you."  
  
"I love you, too," Peter replies. "Go to sleep. We'll get takeout when you wake up."  
  
Takeout, more sex, maybe some Parks & Rec... Gwen could get used to this. "I want Thai."  
  
"Thai it is."  
  
Yeah, she could _definitely_ get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, you guys! It's a good one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. Chapter, the last. The poison for Kuzco.
> 
> I love this chapter. It's also (possibly) the weirdest. Hopefully all of you love it as much as I do.
> 
> Alyson, *MWAH*. I may write more porn for you in the future. FYI.

Peter's antsy. There's no other way to describe it. For a week he's been jiggly, for lack of a better word. His leg bounces in class until Gwen rests a hand over his knee, frustrated beyond belief. His thumbs twiddle until she settles those, too. It's intolerable.  
  
He deflects the question when Gwen asks him about it which means it either a) related to something he considers dangerous and is keeping from her to keep her safe, or b) something he himself doesn't fully understand and is keeping from her because he doesn't want to share it with her until he has a grasp on what it is.  
  
Either way she has to kick his ass. They're partners, which means there in this together, no matter what 'this' is. Hell, Gwen sent Peter on a tampon run two weeks ago. If that isn't commitment, Gwen doesn't know what is.  
  
Peter only really relaxes when Gwen's hands are on him in some way or another. When they're alone, he's needy for her affection, and when they're in public, he finds little ways to bring them into contact. If it weren't so confusing, Gwen might say it was cute. As is, though, it has Gwen troubled. Peter's shutting her out of his problems and Gwen knows that as soon as the stonewalling starts, Peter will try the old "Your Dead Dad Told Me to Stay Away" line, and Gwen ain't having none of that. No, sirree.  
  
Peter brings her coffee the next morning and, okay, she _will_ be having some of that. And the muffin her brings the day after that. And the flowers he brings her on Friday. It's sweet, even more so than he usually is, and Gwen is not the kind of girl to turn down presents. Plus, he gets this absolutely delighted look on his face when she accepts his little gifts that she cannot refuse.   
  
Monday morning, however, he surprises her at her locker with a black velvet box. "Here, this is for you," he says, smiling shyly. Gwen opens it and gasps. The necklace with in is delicate and gorgeous... and _way_ out of Peter's price range.   
  
"Peter," she says, "I can't accept this."  
  
Peter deflates like she ripped his lungs out of his chest. "What?"  
  
"This is way too nice," Gwen tells him, fingering the Swarovski setting appreciatively. "This must have cost so much money."  
  
"But you're worth it," he insists. Gwen swallows at the borderline hysterical gleam in his eye. "You're worth it to me."  
  
Something's not right, she realizes. This isn't just Peter needing a little more affection, something is _wrong_.  
  
"Okay," she says lightly, taking the box from his hands. "Okay, Peter. It's very beautiful. Thank you."  
  
"So you like it?" Peter's hands knot together. "You're going to keep it?"  
  
"I'll keep it," she promises. Hopefully, when Peter's whatever-this-is has faded, he'll agree to take the necklace back to keep the money. Gwen seriously can't take something this expensive from Peter when she knows how the Parker household is struggling to make ends meet. "But I want you to promise me that you won't buy me something this expensive again."  
  
"What do you mean?" Peter says nervously. "Do you not like nice presents?"  
  
Gwen pauses. Everyone likes nice presents, but that doesn't mean she wants Peter to spend his entire college fund on making her the most blinged out girlfriend in Midtown Science. "I'm more of a gestures person," she says diplomatically.  
  
"Gestures," Peter repeats. He wipes his thumb across his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Gestures. Okay, I can do that."  
  
"Peter," Gwen says hesitantly, "why are you doing this?"  
  
The bell rings just then. Peter beams at her and shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'll see you in second track," he says cheerfully. He practically skips off to his first class, and Gwen watches him go, genuinely a little scared for him. Whatever's happening to Peter, it's not normal. He's acting strange, and Gwen needs to find out what it is before he does something he'll really regret.  
  
Two nights later, Gwen is doing her homework when her mother rushes into her room and over to her window.  
  
"Mom?" Gwen asks curiously. Gwen's mom always knocks.  
  
"Come here, quick!" she says, gesturing Gwen to the window. "It's all over the news."  
  
Gwen joins her mother and feels a pit of dread form in her stomach. In the alley between the buildings opposite Gwen's window hangs a massive, sprawling web, at least five meters across and seven meters long. Gwen can see six bundles of webbing spread out over the span of the web, wriggling to be set free. As she's standing there, a red blur swings by the web and drops off a seventh bundle.  
  
Gwen's phone beeps a minute later. _Happy seven-month! There's one for each_.  
  
Seven months. Seven criminals. This is a _gesture_. Gwen isn't sure if she wants to laugh, faint, or throw up. She sits heavily in her desk chair and waits for her head to stop spinning. Peter made a web of criminals outside her window. He caught seven men in one night just to be romantic.  
  
Well, if nothing else, he succeeded at that. This is the coolest, most amazing things anyone's ever done for Gwen Stacy. She just wishes it didn't mean that Peter's brain chemistry was somehow fucked up. Peter would never do something that transparent if he were thinking straight. It's _outside_ her _window_ , for Christ's sake.  
  
The next day, all anyone can talk about is Spider-Man's "Web of Outlaws," but no one seems to be asking why he did it. All they want to talk about is how awesome it was and how radical Spider-Man is. Buoyed by her classmates' enthusiasm, Gwen can't help but agree. Romantic gesture aside, that web was _inspired_.   
  
After school, Peter comes up to her, hands shoved in his pockets. "Was that better?"  
  
How is she supposed to respond to that? Peter made the leap from fancy jewelry to enormous, vigilante displays of devotion. Well, Gwen supposes, at least he isn't blowing hard-earned money, and his outlandish 'gesture' ended up putting seven criminals behind bars. "It was awesome," she says truthfully. "The most badass thing I've ever seen."  
  
"But it was romantic, right?" Peter checks, ducking his head a little. "I mean, it was for you."  
  
Somehow, the explicit confirmation that Peter apprehended seven perps just for Gwen is enough to make her reel a little. "Yeah, I know," Gwen says, fighting to keep her bearings. "It was definitely romantic. I feel very wooed."  
  
Or woozy. One of the two. Gwen's not sure right now.  
  
"Cool," Peter says, grinning. "I'm really glad you liked it. Well, I have to go pick up Aunt May. See you tomorrow?"  
  
Please don't let him do something stupidly romantic tonight. "See you tomorrow," Gwen says with false enthusiasm.  
  
Peter kisses her cheek and blushes, which is completely ridiculous because they've done _so much_ nasty stuff together, Gwen's pretty sure she's lost the ability to blush entirely. "Bye."  
  
Of course he does something stupidly romantic. Of course he does. Tonight, Gwen tunes into the evening news to hear that Spider-Man has turned in a record-breaking eleven criminals so far, and it's only eight o'clock. He'll probably catch even more by the end of the night. The newscasters are speculating that something has upset the Spider-Man to make him so productive. Is he avenging something? Is he celebrating something? What has Spider-Man so wound up?  
  
Now Gwen really has a reason to fear. Peter's grandiosity is putting him on the radar. One big gesture is cool, two is a pattern. If she doesn't stop Peter, and soon, the public will grow restless, and the police will put Spidey back on their watch list.   
  
The next morning, Gwen stops him at his locker. "Peter, was that another gesture?"  
  
He's clearly exhausted, but he smiles, anyway. "Maybe," he says coyly. "Do you want it to be one?"  
  
Gwen is in so far over her head, she doesn't even know which way is up anymore. "Peter, you know I love you," she says desperately. "Whatever you're trying to prove, you've proved it. You're putting yourself in danger now, and I'm really concerned that people are going to freak out again."  
  
"What have I proven?" Peter asks, for once deadly still. "What's this about?"  
  
That's the exact question that's been burning in Gwen's mind for weeks, now. "I don't know, Peter," she sighs tiredly. "That you're mine? That you love me? That you're willing to do really stupid things to make me smile? I knew all of that before, though. I have no idea what this is about."  
  
"So you don't want it," Peter says hollowly. "You don't want me."  
  
"Peter," Gwen snaps, "really? That's what you're pulling from this? Of course I want you. I always want you, I thought I'd made that pretty clear by now. Whatever it is you feel for me, I can pretty much guarantee that it's reciprocated. You didn't need to go on a vigilante spree of justice for me to know that."  
  
"But you said you liked gestures," Peter says unsurely.  
  
"I do," Gwen says, "I love them. But I love you more, and those gestures you're doing for me are putting you in harm's way. I don't want that. I want you to be safe."  
  
"So you do want me?" Peter asks, biting his lips. "I've proven myself? I'm worthy?"  
  
What. The actual. Fuck. "... yes?"  
  
Peter's face spreads into a huge, delighted smile. "Okay. What are you doing tomorrow night?"  
  
If Gwen ever has a mental break, she's blaming this crazy conversation. "Spending time with you, I'd imagine."  
  
"Great," Peter says. "Be on your fire escape at nine sharp. Maybe bring a blanket."  
  
Gwen nods dumbly. Peter kisses her cheek and strides off to his first class, looking like the king of the fucking world.   
  
Gwen barely hears her teachers that day. She takes notes and hopes her hands have captured the idea of the lectures, because she can't focus on anything but Peter's strange behavior. Something about their conversation struck her oddly, and she isn't sure why.  
  
That night, she sits down with her laptop, intent on understanding Peter's ludicrous actions. He's bringing her gifts, touching her, acting like they're freshly dating. He's practically courting her, here.  
  
Oh. Oh, no. Not that. Gwen opens Google and carefully types "Spider Courtship Rituals." Please, don't let this be a spider thing.  
  
It's a spider thing. " _In web-weaving species precise patterns of vibrations in the web are a major part of the rituals, while patterns of touches on the female's body are important in many spiders that hunt actively, and may "hypnotize" the female. Gestures and dances by the male are important for jumping spiders, which have excellent eyesight._ " Thanks, Wikipedia.   
  
The rest of the material under "Reproduction and the Life Cycle" has her terrified. She really doesn't want Peter to inject sperm into her with a pedipalp. Like 'no thanks, I'll just take the check now' doesn't want. What even is a pedipalp?   
  
You know what, Gwen doesn't want to know.  
  
But they've had sex before, and Peter seemed pretty human through all of those encounters. Hopefully this is just a behavior thing, not a physiological thing.  
  
Either way, Gwen thinks the only way she'll be able to pull Peter out of it is if she sleeps with him. She has to complete the mating cycle, right? She can do that. At least now she knows what she's getting into.   
  
The next day, Gwen wakes feeling confident. They're going to settle this thing, and Peter will get back to normal. Everything will work out. It's fine.   
  
Apparently satisfied with her acceptance of his wooing, or whatever, Peter doesn't do anymore stupidly heroic stunts in the city. The morning newscasters say, "Whatever caused our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man to go on a rampage, it seems to have settled. All we can say is thank you, Spider-Man, and stay safe out there."  
  
He's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at school. "Good morning."  
  
"You're perky," Gwen comments, collecting her notebooks for her first two classes. "Sleep well?"  
  
"I have to keep my energy up," he replies, grabbing for her hand. "I have a hot date tonight."  
  
Gwen swallows heavily. Is she supposed to be turned-on by that? She doesn't think so. Well, fuck. "Oh yeah?"  
  
Peter's eyes travel hotly down her body. "Yeah," he says lowly. "She's gonna love it."  
  
Gwen doesn't doubt that for a second. "Well, I have class now," she says, voice higher than normal. "Nine, right?"  
  
"Nine," Peter confirms, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and dragging a light fingernail over the skin there. Gwen suppresses a shudder. "See you then."  
  
She can feel his eyes on her all day, tracing over her body with barely-concealed heat. Gwen's almost surprised no one's called him out on it. She would, if she were confident her words would come out as 'stop' and not 'keep going.' Seriously, he's the one driven by spider-hybrid urges, here. She should _not_ be this wound up.  
  
Nine pm approaches with the lingering crawl of a predator. Gwen can't help but keep close track of the time, and it fills her with a strange mix of fear and anticipation. At a quarter-till she tells her mother that she's hitting the sack early and locks her bedroom door. She fumbles out onto the fire escape at 8:59, blanket in her backpack and stomach a knot of nerves. Here goes nothing. She pats her pockets to double-check that she has condoms. Courtship rituals aside, she is _not_ letting Peter actually get her pregnant. No way.  
  
She hears light feet land on the steps behind her and swivels. Peter's in the suit and Gwen's breath catches. It is a _really_ good look for him. "Ready?"  
  
"Yeah," Gwen says, pasting on a smile. "Where are we going?"  
  
Peter steps forward and tilts his head. "Your heart is racing," he notes. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Sorry," Gwen says, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I just don't know where we're going or anything, that's all." She doesn't mention fearing that Peter's going to inject her with a massive sperm-needle. Somehow, she thinks that might not go over incredibly well.  
  
"Gwen," Peter says, stepping close and rubbing her shoulders between his hands, "I love you, and I promise I'll keep you safe. You trust me, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah," Gwen says, "I do." Dumb as it is, she actually does feel a little better. Driven by weird spider pheromones or not, this is Peter Parker, and she trusts him more than anyone else in her life. "Let's go."  
  
Spider-Man's mask stretches, and Gwen knows Peter's smiling at her underneath it. "Okay."  
  
Gwen's never ready to go flying through the air, no matter how much prep time she has. Her stomach drops when Peter flings them both off her fire escape and into the night. She tightens her grip around his chest and tries to keep her eyes open. The only way to conquer fear is to face it, right? Well, she can totally face being suspended three hundred feet above the streets of Manhattan. Definitely. Mostly.  
  
Luckily, the trip isn't a long one. It only takes them a few minutes to land on a high roof nearby, but Gwen can feel her limbs shaking even before her feet touch the ground. Peter keeps her upright with a hand around her waist. "You okay?"  
  
"I do not understand how you can do that." Gwen clenches her fists methodically and tries to slow her heartbeat. "Please tell me you at least wet yourself the first time."  
  
Peter snorts and rests her on a nearby air conditioning unit. "Sit there, okay? I have to do something."  
  
Gwen slumps against the metal, uncaring that she's probably getting muck all over her clothes. She drops her backpack to the ground and thinks of calming things, like calculus and kittens. Or, better yet, kittens _doing_ calculus. Meanwhile, Peter walks to the middle of the roof and starts casting strings from one venting pipe to another. He flips and leaps over the delicate strands as he works, pulling lines taut with quick snaps of his wrist. He's building a web, Gwen realizes. An actual love-nest.  
  
As her adrenaline fades, Gwen begins to appreciate the sinuous way Peter moves from one section of the web to the next. He's clearly at home, resting on the network of threads, and it's strangely sexy. Gwen really hopes Peter isn't turning her into some sort of weird spider-zoophilic. She should not be aroused by massive spiderwebs. That's not right.  
  
Peter stops every so often to pluck at this string or that one, tilting his head at the sound it makes. _In web-weaving species precise patterns of vibrations in the web are a major part of the rituals._ He's making this perfect for her, even though she won't be able to appreciate it. At least Gwen can appreciate the dedication and thought behind his attention to detail, if not the details themselves, and that's what's important, right? He's being a good mate for her, that's the take-away message.  
  
He spends a few minutes looking over the web, and it must meet his expectations because he hops off and approaches her shyly. "What do you think?"  
  
"It's beautiful," Gwen says. She stands and walks up to the web, running her hands lightly over the tense strands. The pattern is intricate, every string supported by and supporting others. "Did you plan this out, or did you just know how to do this?"  
  
"I might have done a few trial runs," Peter confesses, shifting his weight in embarrassment. "The first few times didn't work. They weren't right. I don't know how to explain it."  
  
Gwen turns and taps at his cheek. "Take the mask off." Once his head is free, Gwen reaches up and kisses him with everything she's got. "It's perfect," she tells him. "I love it."  
  
Peter's entire body relaxes against her. "Do you want to test it?" he asks. "Something inside me needs you to test it."  
  
God, this courtship thing is complicated. Spiders could take a few lessons from hookup culture. Gwen climbs carefully onto the web, shaky even though the strings are stable. She feels like an idiot, plucking at strings like she's supposed to know what they sound like, but her inept assessment seems to calm Peter. He climbs on behind her, looking very spidery with his arms and legs bent out around him.  
  
"I want you so badly right now." He crawls toward her, eyes hungry.  
  
Gwen's breath catches in her throat. It's go time. She can do this. "Then have me."  
  
Peter sucks in a breath and pauses. "You're sure? You want this?"  
  
Gwen's not completely sure what 'this' involves, but she's in love with Spider-Man, and that means loving the Spider just as much as the Man. "Yeah, bug-boy," she says. "Lay it on me."  
  
Peter pulls her into a kiss that's more teeth and tongue than lips. Gwen inhales through her nose: it's really hot. She opens her mouth under him and lets him push her back onto the web. She's surprised at how it gives under her back, molding to her spine. Peter's hands skid over her torso, sticky from the rubber on his gloves. That's really hot, too.  
  
Gwen lets Peter push off her jacket, then sits up so she can yank off her shirt and bra. Peter makes a hungry noise and latches onto a breast. His arms curl around her waist and pull her up against his body. One hand reaches down and unzips her skirt, and Gwen lifts up so he can push it off her legs.   
  
There's an undeniable thrill in being naked next to Peter in the Spider-Man suit. This is probably the closest she'll ever get to feeling like someone's concubine, like some sort of sexual plaything for a superhero, and it's kind of hot. Gwen peels off her underwear and spreads out over the web to look sexy. Peter's breath comes in hot pants as he grazes down her sides, spandex silky between veins of rubber. Gwen wants him to fuck her in the Spider-Man suit someday, she decides, but right now she wants it off. She pulls at the hem of his shirt ineffectually until he gets the point and pulls it off. He levers the waistband of his pants over his erection before shoving those off, too.  
  
It's strange to see Peter, her clumsy and adorkable boyfriend, perched confidently on his fingers and toes on a web. It makes the reality of Gwen's situation even more clear. Her fear returns as a niggling worm in her chest, but it's easily suppressed under her lust. Whatever Peter has in store for her, she's on board.  
  
Peter, to her surprise, runs his hands delicately over her body, pressing at her joints and creases. Is this a spider thing? "Peter?" Gwen asks. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I don't know," he says, "but I need to make sure you're healthy enough for this."  
  
"For what?" The worm grows a little in her chest.  
  
"I don't know," Peter replies, sounding vaguely tortured. "I can't— I don't know."  
  
"Hey," Gwen says, petting down his face, "it's okay. You do what you gotta do. Just, use this before you get going, okay?"  
  
She pulls a condom out of her jacket pocket, which is lying on the web above her head. Peter takes it with a grimace. "Do we have to?"  
  
"Yes," she says. "We do."  
  
"But I don't want to," Peter whines. "It's, like, instinct."  
  
"I know, but I can't get pregnant in high school," Gwen says. "I'll do whatever you want, Peter, but we can't do that."  
  
Something in Peter's eyes clear. "Right," he says, shaking his head. "Of course. That's fine, I can use a condom. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay," Gwen says. "Now put it on so we can get to the good stuff."  
  
Peter rips open the foil and slides the condom on, and Gwen has to swallow a mouthful of saliva because he   
looks downright edible. Her reservations about this have completely evaporated, she just wants him inside her, like, yesterday.   
  
Peter crouches over her in a movement that is nearly inhuman. His eyes have glazed over completely; he's running purely on instinct now. His fingers dance up the insides of Gwen's thighs and push her legs apart. He bows his head to her core and tastes her, but it's almost like he's checking to make sure she's ready, not that he's trying for some foreplay. Gwen bites at the inside of her cheek as a wave of heat flushes down her body. Peter grunts happily and crawls up her body. He grabs at his cock and positions it at her entrance and, without so much as a pause, he slides into her.  
  
Gwen gasps and rolls her hips up into the stretch. Peter clasps his arms around her and thrusts deeply. Gwen's hands fly above her head to grasp at strings of the web. Peter feels so good inside her, she wonders if some of his pheromones have affected her somehow. His spidery-ness is so sexy, all Gwen wants is more.   
  
Peter starts a rhythm of long, slow, deep thrusts punctuated by heavy grinds that rub at Gwen's clit. She slides her hands into his hair and pulls his head down into a kiss, though all they do is breathe into each other's mouths. Stroke after stroke Peter pumps into her until the world fades and all she can feel is the heated friction between her legs. Never have they fucked so thoroughly, nor so intimately. The press of Peter's body is such that she feels like he is trying to push his entire person into her, or her into him. He is completely consumed by her right now.  
  
Gwen locks a leg over his hip and uses the leverage to work into his thrusts. Peter growls— since when does Peter _growl_? And why doesn't he do it _all the time_?— and pistons into her faster, removing one hand from her waist to hold her thigh aloft. The change in angle has him thrusting even deeper, and Gwen can feel her orgasm approaching. She wriggles a hand between their bodies to her clit, and one touch sends her crashing into release. Peter moans and pumps into her even faster until his hips stutter and he comes.   
  
But he doesn't soften. Instead, he whimpers and shifts them so she's sitting in his lap, and he's working tiny, powerful thrusts straight onto her g-spot. With dawning realization, Gwen remembers another line from that Wikipedia article. " _Some species of spider mate for seconds, while others mate for hours._ " If spiders last for hours with their tiny dongs and quick movements, how long will Peter last?  
  
Gwen shivers and wraps her arms around Peter's neck, feeling pleasure flow through her anew. Peter hides his face into her neck and continues thrusting, making small, desperate noises into her skin. Gwen circles her hips and clenches around him.  
  
His second orgasm is a long, shuddering thing that is so beautiful Gwen tries to memorize every detail. It's a fruitless attempt, though, because she's almost immediately swept into the next round of "Peter Parker Is A Spidery Sex God and I'm Just Discovering This Now." It's a sacrifice Gwen can make.   
  
His third third orgasm shoves her up the web an inch with its intensity, but he's still not done. Gwen pushes him onto his back and straddles him when he comes back down, ignoring the eager way he reaches for her body. The haze in his eyes is getting worse. She slides onto him and releases a breath, letting her body readjust to his length. She rides him slowly and traps his hands above his head so he can't force her into going faster. This is her show, now. Peter whines and lets himself go limp under her, accepting the dynamic change. Gwen feels a rush of lust pulse through her, absently amazed that she's been able to keep up with him this long. She's come three times, an orgasm for each of his, but her body seems willing to see this through to the end. Fuck, her body _loves_ it.  
  
"That's it, Peter," she says, sliding up and down his cock soothingly, if that's at all possible. "You feel so good inside me, and you did such a good job with this web and all those things you gave me. You're such a good mate for me."  
  
Peter stares up at her like she just gave him the world on a string. "Yeah?"  
  
It's the first word he's spoken in hours. Does this mean his mating cycle is finally ending? Gwen smiles down at him, swiveling her hips so he rolls against the walls inside her. "Yeah, Peter."  
  
Peter's chest heaves with effort "I did— I did good?"  
  
Gwen presses a kiss onto his forehead. "You did great. I'm so lucky to have you in my life, Peter, you're so good to me."  
  
The cloudiness in his eyes abates. "I did good for you," he breathes. "I did it."   
  
It's like something unclenches inside him. His back bows and he comes hard, crying out into the air. Gwen rides him through it and pulls off when, finally, he softens. She pulls the abused condom off, tying it off and throwing it to the other side of the web. Peter is slack but conscious, and the next time he opens his eyes, they're clear.  
  
"What. The. Fuck," he groans. "What was that?"  
  
He's back. Thank God. "I think spiders have mating cycles," she says. "And I think you inherited that from your radioactive friend."  
  
Peter lolls his head to look at her blearily. "Mating cycles? Fuck. Are you okay?"  
  
Honestly, she was halfway to another orgasm, but Gwen doesn't mind. "I'm fine. More importantly, are you okay? That was vicious."  
  
Peter shakes his head slowly. "It's like, I remember everything, but it wasn't me, you know?" He scrubs a hand down his face. "I remember coming a lot. Like, a lot. More than I thought was possible. And... did I make you a web full of criminals?"  
  
Gwen laughs and curls up into his side. "That you did. The people of New York were very impressed."  
  
"Fuck," Peter sighs. He slides a hand down her waist. "You're sure you're okay? I didn't hurt you?"  
  
"Not even a little bit," Gwen says. "I was worried at first, because I didn't know what was happening and you were acting really strange, but as soon as I figured it out I was fine. But spider mating cycles, Peter... that's intense."  
  
"Tell me about it," he says. "Thanks for being there for me, Gwen. I don't know what I'd have done without you."  
  
"Well it was a total hardship for me," Gwen says facetiously. "I mean, getting free coffee and donuts is one thing, but three orgasms, too? It's asking a lot."   
  
Peter huffs a laugh. "By the way, you remember that necklace I gave you?"  
  
"You're taking it back," Gwen says. "I'm definitely not keeping it."  
  
"Awesome," Peter says, relieved. "Because I totally used the month's food money to buy it."  
  
Gwen looks at him, aghast. "You didn't."  
  
"Shut up," he says, throwing a hand over his eyes. "It seemed more important at the time."  
  
"A crystal necklace was more important than your family's food," Gwen says, fighting semi-hysterical laughter. "Man, these mating cycle things are rough." She'll probably freak out about it later, she thinks, because Peter _lost his mind_ to pheromones and that's _terrifying_ , but for right now she's just glad it's over.  
  
Peter looks at her through his fingers. "So I probably shouldn't tell you that I almost bought an engagement ring instead?"  
  
Gwen's blood goes cold. "Peter...."  
  
"I know!" He throws his hands up defensively. "It's way, way too soon and we're way, way too young. I agree. I'm not ready for that either."  
  
"Okay," Gwen says. "Good, because I would've said no. Not at eighteen years old."  
  
"Yeah." Peter tangles his fingers together and stares down at his lap. "But, you know, maybe one day, after college and job hunting and stuff...."  
  
Gwen bites at the inside of her lip. Something pink and girly inside her is jumping in joy right now, and she can't be bothered to restrain it. "Maybe one day, after college and job hunting and stuff... I'll say yes. But I want you to do it as you, not as some sex-crazed spider zombie thing, okay?"  
  
Peter's face splits into a hopeful grin. "You'd say yes?"  
  
"In a hypothetical situation in which you don't get killed by some supervillain and I don't die from the rigor of biochemical engineering classes, yeah. I think I'd say yes."  
  
Peter lunges at her, pulling her into a hug so tight she has trouble breathing. "Everything I do from now on is going to be oriented toward making that future a possibility," he whispers into her hair. "You, me, and a house full of lab equipment. It's gonna be great."  
  
"Okay, Spider-Man," Gwen says dryly, though she wants it, too, so badly she can taste it. "We can plan our future tomorrow, okay? But for now it's almost four in the morning, and I'm exhausted."  
  
Peter slings her backpack to the web and pulls out the blanket. The web makes a decent bed once they're covered and cuddling. Gwen's incredibly impressed.  
  
"I want to do this with you every day for the rest of my life," Peter says softly. "I want that future, Gwen. I'm serious."  
  
Gwen's heart constricts. The truth is, she gets so scared sometimes when she hears about how the danger he faces as Spider-Man. All she wants is to spend the rest of her life with Peter, but she has no idea if that's even possible when his life is at risk every week.  
  
But Gwen can handle it. She has to, because as scared as she is to lose Peter, she knows life would be worse if she pushed him away. She can't imagine living without him. And if that means she'll spend the rest of her life patching up Spider-Man's wounds and Peter's lingering insecurities, she'll do it. It would be an honor to revolve her life around loving Peter Parker.  
  
She can only hope that their lives last long enough to give him the love that he deserves.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends our not-so-long but oh-so-filthy story. I'm so, so sorry I left the end the way it is, because we all know how long Gwen Stacy has to love Peter Parker, but... a magical happy ending seemed cheap, and you guys deserve to make your own ending. Maybe they live till their eighty. Maybe Peter catches her in time. Maybe Peter gives Harry the vial of blood and nothing bad happens. But maybe not. It's up to you.
> 
> Also, spider-heat. Fun, right? Yeah. Fun.
> 
> Thank you all so much for taking the time and effort to read this fic. You're all gems. I very much doubt this is my last Spider-Man fic, so keep an eye out, if you'd like. If not, you're still cool. Just, you know, not /as/ cool.


End file.
